Og&SSBS&BBSSB&BfSBBBSaBSlBa&SaSa 


ALASKA  BLACKLOCK 


FRED  LOCKLEY 

RARE  WESTERN  BOOKS 

4227  S.  E.  Stark  St. 
PORTLAND.  ORE. 


Nick  of  the  Woods 


BY 
ALASKA  BLACKLOCK 

S^v  /  J       (£XcrvC-( 


PORTLAND,    OREGON 

AUTUMN  OF   1916 


THE  AUTHOR 

"Alaska  Blacklock' 


PS 


rvu 


DEDICATORY 

TO 

JOHN   F.    VANSLOOTEN 

One  of  the  nearest  and  dearest  of  many  loyal 
friends  who  were  associated  with  the  Author  in  early 
life  where  the  following  tale  was  born  are  these  pages 
humbly  dedicated  and  inscribed. 

His  rich  poetic  nature,  most  excellent  culture 
and  ennobling  principles  have  for  over  a  score  of  busy 
eventful  years,  inspired  the  Author  to  be  a  better 
man;  and  whose  recent  council  in  business,  and  sym 
pathy  in  sorrow  have  renewed  and  strengthened  the 
imperishable  ties  of  friendship. 

Most  sincerely, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


COPYRIGHTED  IN  THE  YEAR  1916 
BY  J.  E.  JENSEN 


3J«T«en 


ompang 


J.  E.  JENSEN,  Manager 
Portland,   Oregon,   U.  S.  A. 


THE  PUBLISHER'S  NOTE 

The  author  of  the  foregoing,  was  graduated  from 
the  University  of  Manual  labor.  These  pages  are 
the  products  of  his  own  early  experience. 

Essentially  the  story  is  quite  true;  with  the  ex 
ceptions,  the  few  fictitious  characters,  and  a  few 
events.  The  flowers,  berries,  fish  and  game,  are 
accurately  discribed.  The  lakes,  rivers,  hills  and 
valleys  all  graphically  pictured,  and  the  men,  homes, 
crafts  and  customs  are  exact.  The  various  kinds  of 
trees,  the  lumber-men's  methods,  the  weather,  the 
modes  of  life  and  labor,  from  the  ax,  adz  and  saw, 
to  the  Sway-bars  and  Toggle,  from  the  to-loader  to 
the  Roust-a-bout;  yea- from  stump  to  finish,  the  every 
explanation  is  in  perfect  order. 

It  was  necessary  for  the  author  to  misplace  cer 
tain  events,  and  to  mis-locate  certain  people,  and 
also  to  put  certain  ones  through  things  which  in  real 
life  they  did  not  exactly  do,  always,  as  he  pictures 
it  In  making  a  new  phase  of  litature  it  was  neces 
sary  that  he  personally  refer  to  many  of  The  Lum 
bermen,  Merchants,  Farmers,  Mechanics,  Millrnen, 
Riyermen,  Shingle- weavers,  and  Shanty-boys;  but  in 
doing  this,  he  has  sought  to  make  mention  of  those 
whom  he  best  knew,  and  highly  esteemed.  There 
fore  as  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  interview  all 
of  these  before  the  publication,  whose  eyes  may 
chance  to  fall  upon  these  chapters,  he  begs  that  every 
one  whose  name  he  uses  will  feel  assured  that  honor 
and  friendship  urged  him  to  do  so.  He  also  wishes 
to  have  you,  whose  names  are  not  mentioned,  under 
stand  that  space,  rather  than  memory  forbids. 

In  this  remarkable  book,  the  author  has  given  a 
candid  setting  of  men  and  events  in  and  about  the 


home  of  his  boyhood,  and  has  not  made  one  single 
ungentlemanly  reference.  How  pleasing  it  is  for  a 
Publisher  after  a  careful  perusal  of  the  whole  text 
to  find  every  reference  made  with  sincere  affection 
leaving  all  to  infer,  that  he  always  lived  in  harmony 
with  all  his  yoke-fellows,  and  to  know  that  after  the 
lapse  of  thirty  years  his  associates  still  are  fresh  and 
green  in  his  memory. 

No  matter  who  you  are,  or  where  you  are  from, 
nor  your  rank  in  life,  the  book  is  worth  your  reading. 
The  very  sweetest  strains  in  all  the  book  are  the 
tributes  paid  to  the  noble  men,  and  heroic  women, 
and  the  poetic  offerings  to  the  sweet  Arbutus  blos 
soms,  to  the  mossy  valleys,  the  sifting  snows  and 
whispering  pines,  all  of  which  joined  in  the  sublime 
back-woods. 

Melo-drama  staged  before  the  fanciful  foot-steps 
of  the  unselfish  man,  who  has  in  a  unique  and  untir 
ing  manner  endeavored  to  make  immortal  not  only 
his  friends  and  fellow  toilers  but  the  country  beauti 
ful  in  which  he  was  reared  and  to  which  he  dedicates 
his  labor  and  his  love. 

In  writing  the  work  the  author  journeyed  back 
again  to  the  old  familiar  haunts  where  the  scenes 
were  laid  in  boyhood,  that  his  mind  might  be  re 
freshed,  and  the  settings  arranged  more  properly. 

If  our  note  could  express  our  feelings,  your  grat 
itude  would  be  greatly  augumented. 

Very  sincerely, 

THE  PUBLISHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

*T  was  October  on  the  Big  Muskegon 
River,  back  in  the  early  seventies  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  when  two 
rough  and  hardy  men  stopped  at 
Norway  Haul.  The  genial  cook  had 
given  that  timely  and  welcome  tune  on  the  six- 
foot  dinner  horn,  which  reverberated  over  the 
broad  acres  of  stumpage,  and  called  the  lads  to 
chuck.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes  when  the  lads 
riding  their  horses,  driving  the  oxen,  and  others 
stepping  sprightly,  came  pouring  into  camp.  The 
wash-basins  rattled  like  the  ware  of  a  Yankee 
tin  peddler,  and  the  hemp  towels  were  soaked 
with  the  wipings  from  knotty  hands  inured  to 
toil.  There  were  sawyers,  choppers,  swampers, 
teamsters  and  roust-a-bouts,  and  when  they  had 
washed  and  combed  they  filed  into  the  cook  camp 
in  orderly  style,  leaving  the  newcomers  seated 
on  the  bench  by  the  fire.  When  the  last  regular 
toiler  had  been  seated  still  there  was  room  for 

17 


more,  and  the  second  cook  politely  invited  the 
strangers  to  come  to  dinner.  This  was  all  that 
\vas  necessary  and  with  the  sons  of  the  pinery 
they  ate  their  meat  with  singleness  of  heart 

The  two  strangers  were  brothers  of  the  flesh 
and  chums  by  mutual  choice,  though  long  ago 
some  readers  may  call  them  to  recollection;  as 
they  were  not  creatures  of  imagination  but  men 
of  the  earth,  clothed  in  flesh,  for  no  novelist  ever 
pictured  out  of  imagination  with  a  pen  of  iron 
such  characters  of  real  life.  You  are  not  pursu 
ing  a  vainglorious  dream,  but  reading  of  actual 
actors  in  the  great  natural  drama  "The  Shanty- 
men's  Life,  in  the  Days  of  White  Pine."  It  had 
been  ten  years  since  they  bade  farewell  to  their 
parents  in  Old  Erin,  the  time  had  been  spent  in 
the  harvest  of  the  pines.  The  strangers  were 
first  to  finish  the  noonday  meal,  made  to  satisfy 
appetite,  not  to  supply  ceremony  and  fit  fashion. 
They  arose  from  the  table,  thanked  the  cook, 
which  was  the  common  currency  of  the  time  for 
camp  board,  and  made  for  the  foreman's  office. 

The  foreman  was  a  fat,  good-natured  fellow, 
gentle  as  a  duck  but  somewhat  odd  in  attitude. 
He  would  hire  a  man  after  dark  and  fire  him 

18 


before  daylight;  the  lads  used  to  say  "without 
even  learning  the  color  of  his  eyes."  Modestly 
the  two  brawny  men  approached  the  magnet  of 
the  camp  and  the  older  and  larger  asked  for 
work. 

"What  can  you  do?"  was  the  response  to  the 
solicitation,  which  came  from  the  boss  while  he 
was  marking  down  the  men's  time,  and  he  spoke 
without  even  looking  up  to  see  what  the  job 
seekers  looked  like. 

"We  are  able  bodied  shanty-men,  but  we  pre 
fer  to  saw  this  winter,"  came  the  reply. 

"Do  you  saw  together?"  asked  the  boss  while 
he  closed  up  the  book  and  tucked  it  under  the 
blankets  of  his  bunk. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  speaker. 

"What's  your  name?"  inquired  the  foreman, 
as  he  reached  for  a  book  to  make  a  new  record. 

"Nick,"  was  the  answer. 

"Nick  what?" 

"Just  Nick." 

"Where  did  you  hail  from?" 

"The  woods,  sir." 

"Then  I  will  call  you  Nick  of  the  Woods.  And 
your  name?"  the  boss  inquired,  pointing  his  blunt 

19 


lead  pencil  at  the  silent  man. 

"Max,"  said  the  fellow,  betraying  his  Irish 
brogue. 

"All  right,  you're  entered  for  the  race,  Nick 
of  the  Woods  and  Max,"  jollied  the  fat  boss. 
"When  do  you  want  to  start  at  it?"  he  inquired. 

"We  are  ready  now,"  said  Nick. 

"Then  go  to  the  van,  pick  out  your  saw,  hang 
your  axes,  cut  your  measure,  champer  your 
wedges,  get  a  chore-boy  to  fix  you  up  a  bunk  and 
go  to  work  tomorrow." 

Two  hours  before  daybreak  the  day  following 
Nick  and  Max  stood  next  to  the  camp  door  wait 
ing  for  orders,  anxious  to  prove  to  the  other 
eighty  lads  that  they  knew  the  arts  and  crafts  of 
timber.  Suddenly  the  huge  door  was  pushed 
open  and  the  foreman's  inevitable  "Hurra  Lads" 
thundered  through  the  camp. 

These  words  silenced  the  tales  of  the  men,  out 
went  the  pipes  and  on  went  the  mitts  and  caps, 
as  these  jolly  lads  whistled  away  rapidly  to  their 
toil.  These  were  the  days  when  every  man  got 
his  pay,  his  fill,  and  his  just  deserts. 

Norway  Haul  was  a  novel  abode.  It  was  so 
named  because  formerly  surrounding  this  pic- 

20 


luresque  ridge  the  tallest,  straightest  and  thrif 
tiest  Norway  grew,  and  it  had  required  skill  and 
endurance  to  haul  these  tall  timbers  to  the  river, 
and  so  it  was  named  in  memory  of  hauling  Nor 
way.  At  this  time  not  a  tree  stood  in  sight  to 
witness  the  name  still  clinging  to  the  camp;  they 
had  teen  cut  by  the  timber  reapers,  sliced  into 
lumber,  squared  into  car-sills,  or  barn-beams, 
bored,  dressed,  matched  and  polished  to  suit  the 
taste  of  folks  in  cities  far  away.  It  was  fully  two 
miles  to  the  forest,  the  present  scene  of  action. 
The  men  were  engaged  in  harvesting  tall  cork 
pine,  which  was  interspersed  with  beech,  birch, 
basswood,  maple,  ash,  ironwood,  cherry,  hemlock 
and  other  species.  There  were  twenty  crosscut 
saws  running  on  the  job  and  the  output  was  a 
million  feet  of  logs  sent  to  the  river  every  five 
days. 

Times  were  good,  wages  high  and  work  plen 
tiful.  Chuck  was  dished  up  in  royal  fashion,  the 
camp  was  a  paradise  for  the  lumbermen.  It  was 
just  after  the  age  of  pork  and  beans  and  just  be 
fore  the  advent  of  cereals.  Pancakes  and  molas 
ses,  brown  bread  and  beefsteak,  potatoes  and 
turnips,  ham  and  eggs,  coffee  and  catsup,  pickles 

21 


and  crackers,  canned  peaches  and  raisin  pie,  as 
a  dessert,  was  the  weekly  course,  and  the  man 
was  not  born  and  his  mother  was  dead,  who 
would  kick  on  the  chuck  at  Norway  Haul. 

Just  a  moment,  please,  till  I  make  you  ac 
quainted  with  the  members  of  the  crew — take  a 
knock  down  to  Murphy,  the  chore-boy,  sixty 
years  old,  still  at  a  boy's  job.  Perhaps  you  have 
forgotten  and  perhaps  you  never  knew  the  odd 
jobs  he  had  to  do.  He  had  to  stir  up  forty  heaps 
of  rye  straw  and  straighten  eighty  blankets  over 
these  heaps,  which  he  called  making  the  bunks, 
they  furnish  rye  straw  because  the  oxen  nor 
horses  could  not  eat  it,  and  then  it  was  bearded 
like  a  porcupine,  and  the  men  could  always  be 
awakened  easily  when  they  slept  on  it.  The  box 
stove  ate  a  cord  of  block  wood  every  twenty-four 
hours;  this  he  had  to  cut  and  haul  to  camp  on  a 
hand-sled.  There  were  two  vinegar  barrels  to 
fill  with  water,  every  morning  this  had  to  be 
packed  from  the  spring  twenty  rods  away.  There 
was  the  floor  to  sweep,  and  about  fifty  pairs  of 
stags  and  rubbers  to  put  back  under  the  right 
bunk;  the  chore-boy  had  to  know  every  man's 
old  boots,  shoes,  stags,  sashes  and  socks.  There 

22 


were  two  other  camps  to  heat  and  keep  clean,  the 
cook  camp  and  the  foreman's  office;  there  were 
roads  to  shovel,  errands  to  run,  letters  to  mail 
and  if  he  ran  shy  of  employment  he  could  pare 
the  potatoes  for  the  second  cook,  which  required 
five  pecks  a  day;  should  this  not  engage  all  his 
time  he  might  wipe  dishes,  mop  floors,  wait  on 
the  sick  and  injured put  it  down  in  red  Mur 
phy  never  got  homesick  because  of  idleness. 

Now  just  meet  Fisher,  the  musician,  he  is  left- 
handed,  lame  in  one  knee,  minus  a  big  toe,  ha&  a 
bald  pate,  a  watch  eye,  a  stammering  tongue  and 
a  cherry  picker's  beak;  but  he  can  almost  rival 
Ole  Bull  on  a  violin. 

Meet  Tommy  Fitzgerald,  who  with  a  hundred 
charming  melodies  sang  the  weary  men  to  sleep 
so  often  long  ago. 

Here  I  will  present  to  you  Charley  Dalb,  the 
Dutch  Humorous,  who  spilled  his  jokes  in  reck 
less  profusion. 

And  see  here  is  Larry  Phillips,  the  wizard  of 
all  ox-team  hoodoos. 

Please  meet  old  Ed  Rogers,  the  king  of  top- 
loaders — what  a  bunch  of  vaudeville  stars,  but 
just  remember  that  they  did  all  these  stunts  for 

23 


fun,  buf  had  to  work  fo  make  a  living. 

Nick  and  Max  cut  their  first  tree  on  the  six 
teenth  day  of  October.  There  were  seven  logs, 
five  sixteens,  a  fourteen  and  a  twelve,  they  scaled 
six  thousand  feet.  Pat  Qmelia  put  the  whole 
seven  logs  on  a  Russel  Logging  Car,  the  side 
geared  engine,  with  Dan  O'Brien  at  the  throttle, 
made  the  summit  grade  and  before  nightfall  the 
new  gang  had  made  a  deposit  in  the  Big  Muske- 
gon  River.  After  they  finished  the  tree,  swal 
lowed  the  sinkers  they  had  taken  for  lunch,  and 
started  on  another  pine,  the  foreman,  who  had 
spent  the  morning  with  the  new  gang,  looked  at 
his  watch  saying:  "It  is  only  ten  o'clock  and  you 
fellows  have  cut  six  thousand  feet  of  logs,  I 
guess  you  will  match  up  with  the  rest  of  the 
crew."  He  left  them  satisfied  they  were  among 
his  best  sawyers. 

In  the  evening  at  the  camp  there  was  plenty 
of  excitement.  Fire  Department  and  Shuffle  the 
Brogue  were  very  popular  games,  because  they 
were  very  rough.  Those  who  did  not  join  the 
games  played  pedro,  read  novels  and  smoked 
Peerless.  Those  who  were  musically  inclined 
gathered  in  a  group,  tuned  their  instruments  and 

24 


rendered  some  fine  music.  The  singers  would 
gather  at  the  far  end  of  the  camp,  which  was 
eighty  or  ninety  feet  long,  and  sing  the  current 
songs  of  the  Shanty-man's  life.  Dad  Gordon,  the 
saw-fitter,  told  a  continued  story  for  forty  nights, 
about  the  early  settlers  of  Indiana,  Whoop-pole 
County,  catching  a  black  fox. 

Nick  slept  on  the  ground  floor,  used  his  panb 
Tor  a  pillow  and  pressed  them  on  the  benches 
Sunday  morning.  While  some  of  the  lads  were 
more  or  less  dirty  about  their  underclothes  and 
oars,  rust  settled  frequently  on  their  elbows  and 
wrists.  Nick  wras  neat  about  his  person,  and  fath 
ered  the  rule  that  all  newcomers  had  to  take  a 
bath,  and  while  a  greater  per  cent  of  them  mur 
dered  the  King's  English,  Nick  addressed  his 
comrades  in  well  chosen  sentences,  speaking  in  a 
low  undertone. 

Camp  life  was  very  agreeable  the  whole  year 
around.  One  of  the  efforts  then  put  forth  was  to 
make  this  forest  barrack  homelike.  The  melting 
pot  was  introduced  to  punish  the  skippers  of  the 
undershirt;  rules  were  willingly  obeyed,  the 
cleanliness  and  good  humor  of  the  men  was  very 
commendable.  The  lights  were  extinguished, 

25 


except  on  Saturdajr  nights,  at  nine  o'clock,  and 
every  man  abed;  if  anybody  attempted  to  talk 
after  they  had  "doused  the  glim,"  a  dozen  raps 
of  protest  could  be  heard  from  different  sides  of 
the  camp;  after  that,  if  they  still  persisted  in  the 
forbidden  indulgence,  bootjacks,  stags,  stools  and 
cord-wood  would  be  flying  your  way  too  fast  to 
handle.  In  camp  the  clock  was  about  two  hours 
ahead  of  the  regular  time,  the  chore-boy  called 
the  crew  three  hours  before  daylight  in  winter. 
The  only  light  they  had  in  the  morning  to  dress 
by  was  the  great  red-hot  stove,  livid  from  base 
to  stovepipe,  and  frequently  the  pipe  would  be 
as  red  as  a  cherry  to  the  very  peak  of  the  shanty. 
By  this  light  they  arose,  sorted  their  socks  and 
dressed  their  feet;  they  slept  in  their  undershirts 
under  gray  woolen  blankets,  dressed  warm  and 
experienced  little  difficulty  in  keeping  warm  at 
work,  protected  by  the  great  forests.  The  wind, 
which  is  the  most  disagreeable  of  all  elemental 
conditions,  and  most  disastrous  to  traffic  and 
manufacture,  scarcely  bothered  at  all  until  the 
forests  were  either  cut  down  or  hewn  thread 
bare. 

Beakfast  was  served  early,  the  crew  ordered 
26 


to  the  woods  fully  two  hours  before  daybreak. 
The  \valk  of  two  miles  seemed  but  a  moment's 
ramble,  the  tools  were  dug  out,  the  frost  melted 
from  the  ax-helves,  and  the  blade  was  thrust  in 
the  fire  made  from  the  dead  branches  of  the 
huge  trees;  the  steel  wedges  were  arranged  in  a 
row  near  the  flames  to  warm  and  draw  the  frost 
so  they  could  be  used  when  a  log  pinched  or  a 
tree  had  to  be  thrown  the  opposite  way  from 
which  it  leaned.  The  last  hour  at  night  several 
trees  were  sawed  down,  marked  off,  and  at  each 
place  the  tree  was  to  be  cut  in  two  they  would 
place  a  stick  across  so  when  it  was  dark  they 
could  find  where  the  log  was  to  be  cut  when 
they  felt  along  the  tree  till  they  came  to  the  stick. 
They  would  saw  several  big  logs  before  the  first 
gray  streak  broke  in  the  west,  and  Charley  Dalb 
said  "I  wore  out  my  new  mittens  on  the  job  be 
fore  daylight."  When  Old  Sol  did  appear  and 
the  oblique  rays  shot  over  the  earth  they  did  not 
add  to  their  warmth  very  much,  but  added  to 
their  vision  of  the  frosty  air  and  the  dim,  distant 
hills  wrapped  in  the  robes  of  a  winter's  morning. 
The  Van,  or  Supply  house,  usually  kept  by 
the  boss,  was  to  accommodate  the  members  of 

27 


the  camp.  Pipes,  tobacco,  rubbers  and  socks, 
jackets  and  mackinaws,  shirts,  caps  and  mitts 
were  kept  in  stock;  the  lads  were  supplied,  the 
goods  charged  up  to  them  and  subtracted  from 
their  pay-checks  in  the  spring. 

The  cook,  Frank  McGovern,  was  banker  pro- 
tern  and  kept  safely  in  his  rusty  lard-can  valua 
bles  galore.  Trinkets,  watches,  rings,  purses,  let 
ters  and  photographs  of  wives,  sisters,  mothers 
and  sweethearts  were  unanimously  placed  in  care 
of  the  honest  cook.  Many  of  the  men  had  no 
home  but  the  camp,  no  goods  but  what  they  tied 
in  their  grain  bags,  no  clothing  but  that  on  their 
backs,  whenever  their  hats  were  on  their  houses 
were  shingled. 

The  equipage  of  the  shanty  was  also  very  sim 
ple.  Stationary  benches  reached  around  on  all 
sides  of  the  men's  camp,  with  several  movable 
ones  and  some  stools  which  were  used  by  the 
men  in  reading  and  playing  games.  Tables  for 
cards  and  books  were  in  evidence,  a  large  box- 
stove  set  upon  legs  of  brick,  in  a  base  of  sand 
which  served  as  a  spittoon.  There  was  a  grind 
stone,  two  barrels  of  water,  one  for  drinking  and 
one  for  other  purposes,  there  were  wash  basins, 

28 


towels,  soap  and  a  can  of  kerosene  to  fill  the 
lamp,  and  lanterns  for  the  teamsters.  At  one 
end  of  the  camp  was  a  door  and  on  each  side  a 
half  window;  the  bunks  were  three  tier  high  and 
those  on  the  second  story  were  the  favorites.  A 
hay  wire  encircled  the  stove;  on  this  they  hung 
their  wet  jackets,  mittens  and  socks;  the  socks 
furnished  an  abundance  of  perfumery,  which  was 
quite  unlike  a  newly  opened  box  of  California 
oranges.  On  the  tables  were  some  of  Diamond 
Dick's  novels,  the  Muskegon  Daily  Chronicle  and 
a  deck  of  cards.  The  most  useful  piece  of  furni 
ture  was  a  backwoods  barber  chair  made  out  of 
rough  pine  plank,  with  an  old  broom  fastened  to 
the  back  for  a  head-rest.  A  few  feet  off  stood 
the  cook  camp;  this  wras  a  very  popular  place 
indeed,  for  as  the  lads  used  to  sing  "It  isn't  the 
style  of  a  Shanty-man  to  lose  his  chuck  you 
know."  In  this  camp  the  cook,  second  cook  and 
two  or  three  helpers  lived  and  labored.  The  spa 
cious  tables  were  stationary,  fortunate  indeed  it 
was,  too,  had  they  not  have  been  they  would  have 
broken  down  under  the  load  of  food  which  was 
piled  upon  them  without  measure.  They  ate  from 
tin  plates,  drank  out  of  tin  cups,  basins  were 

29 


nsed  for  the  dark  brown  sugar,  molasses  was 
housed  in  pewter  pitchers,  yellow  earthenware 
was  supplied  for  soups  and  sauces,  iron  knives 
and  forks  with  tin  spoons  were  furnished.  A 
pure  white  oilcloth  covered  the  table;  this  was 
washed  spick  and  span.  No  talking  was  permit 
ted,  except  to  ask  for  food  to  be  passed,  and  save 
the  clashing  of  knives  and  forks,  the  rattle  of 
basins  and  other  dishes,  the  meals  passed  off  in 
a  genteel  manner. 

Saturday  nights  the  mossbacks  (a  term  ap 
plied  to  the  early  settlers)  would  go  home  from 
work  and  often  invite  their  partners  to  go  with 
them  and  stay  over  till  Monday  morning,  and  it 
was  usually  quiet  over  Sunday.  Those  who  re 
mained  in  camp  would  read,  play  cards,  sing 
songs,  dance  clog  and  juber  steps,  darn  socks, 
patched  pants,  sewed  on  buttons,  wrote  letters, 
cut  hair,  shaved  and  the  like;  few  ever  hunted, 
fished  or  indulged  in  physical  sports.  A  few 
would  don  a  clean  shirt  or  wear  their  best  shoes, 
but  ordinarily  they  were  stags,  argued  innocently, 
scuffled  good  naturedly  and  thus  the  day  passed 

by. 

It  was  not  in  camp,  however,  that  the  most 
30 


interesting  and  entertaining  part  of  the  loggers 
life  was  seen,  it  was  amid  the  tall  and  waving 
pine  where  they  were  more  beautiful  to  behold. 
Here  was  their  home  and  they  were  the  masters. 
Sawing,  chopping,  skidding,  loading  and  swamp 
ing  was  their  delight.  Each  was  proud  of  his 
dexterity,  many  a  feat  of  skill  and  strength  was 
exhibited.  McQueen,  with  his  timber  cleaver 
weighing  as  it  did  two  ounces  over  seven  pounds, 
hung  on  a  handle  he  had  shaven  from  the  trunk 
of  a  rock  elm  tree,  would  step  up  to  a  pine  and 
darken  the  sun  with  chips,  not  an  ax  mark  could 
be  found  on  either  stump  or  butt,  so  accom 
plished  was  he  in  his  craft,  the  ply  of  that  mighty 
ax,  the  magic  of  the  deepening  notch,  made  one 
feel  that  the  tree  was  but  wax  and  the  ax-man  a 
giant  from  some  other  world.  The  champion 
gang  with  the  cross-cut  were  equipped  with  a 
seven  foot  Atkins  saw,  and  on  a  wager  for  a  new 
hat,  pulled  at  the  rapid  rate  of  three  strokes  a 
second,  and  cut  a  thousand  feet  of  logs  in  fif 
teen  minutes.  In  this  registered  feat  the  Zipp 
brothers  have  never  been  excelled. 

Loading  logs  with  a  single  chain  with  swung 
whiffle-trees  and  two  horses  has  never  been  im- 

31 


poved  since  the  days  of  old  Ed  Rogers,  the  hero 
of  Norway  Haul.  On  this  job,  which  was  a 
pine  tree  harvest  at  its  best  before  the  times  of 
cutting  low  stumps  and  making  logs  out  of 
limbs;  at  present  everything  is  used  that  will 
square  a  window  stop  or  make  a  streak  of  saw 
dust  Skidding,  boating  and  tonging  were  dif 
ferent  ways  they  employed  to  get  logs  from  the 
stumps  to  the  loader.  About  every  forty  rods  an 
improvised  railroad  track  was  laid.  A  pole  tram 
was  used  by  Scot  Garish,  but  here  they  used  light 
iron  rails.  The  ground  was  soft,  nothing  but  yel 
low  sand;  you  could  easily  dig  with  a  tin  pail  if 
you  were  minus  a  number  two.  It  was  but  twenty 
rods  from  the  most  distant  tree  to  the  skidway, 
and  you  can  imagine  how  rapidly  the  acres  were 
eaten.  It  was  fifteen  miles  to  the  rollway  on  the 
Big  Muskegon,  which  bore  upon  her  shining 
bosom  billions  of  feet  of  logs  during  the  lumber 
period  which  lasted  upwards  of  thirty  years. 

The  character  of  the  men  was  far  above  the 
average  laboring  man.  The  writer  has  person 
ally  known  thousands  of  the  lumbermen,  and 
visited  almost  every  class  of  men  from  the  cactus 
belt  of  Sonora  to  the  Sourdough  haunts  of  the 

32 


Arctic  Divide  and  from  the  Longshoremen  of  the 
Pacific  to  the  Wharf-rats  of  tre  Atlantic,  besides 
cowboys,  ranch-owners  and  farmers  throughout 
the  Middle  West,  as  well  as  artisans  in  great 
manufacturing  plants  in  the  centers  of  commerce 
and  the  marts  of  trade;  and  feels  competent  to 
affirm  that  no  class  of  men  ever  more  willingly 
put  their  shoulders  to  the  golden  wrheels  of  labor 
than  did  the  lads  of  the  lumber  woods. 

Rivermen  were  lumbermen  under  other  cir 
cumstances  and  then  their  acts  of  courage,  honor 
and  obedience  have  never  been  surpassed.  A 
few  of  them  were  like  bad  Indians,  diabolical 
when  red  liquor  was  boss,  but  they  did  not  rep 
resent  the  rank  and  file  of  the  men.  Perhaps  no 
other  class  of  men  have  proven  their  generosity 
as  eloquently  as  they  when  a  comrade  was  in 
distress.  The  first  thing  for  an  unfortunate  was 
a  liberal  subscription,  and  woe  betide  the  gink 
who  gave  less  than  a  cartwheel. 

It  should  be  related  that  not  all  of  these  fel 
lows  were  here  out  of  sheer  necessity.  Charley 
Dalb  said,  "I  work  in  camp  to  wear  out  my  old 
clothes."  Pioy  Forsythe  said,  "I  am  here  because 
I  am  too  heavy  for  light  work  and  too  light  for 

33 


heavy  work."  Charley  Haveland  declared  "I  am 
working  in  camp  to  plague  my  mother."  These 
were  jokes  only,  but  there  were  men  there  whose 
fathers  were  rich  farmers  in  the  southern  part  of 
the  state  and  their  sons  came  to  camp  to  spend 
the  months  that  would  have  otherwise  been  dull 
and  quiet  on  the  farm.  Others  came  there  from 
the  pent  up  wall  of  industry,  where  the  vitiated 
air  had  sapped  their  red  cheeks  and  manly  vigor, 
seeking  health  in  these  rugged  shades.  A  few 
bad  men  sought  the  woods  as  a  covert  to  elude 
the  law,  but  they  talked  litle  and  took  no  active 
part  in  fashioning  the  life  or  establishing  rules. 
Should  you  associate  with  all  grades  of  men  from 
boot-blacks  to  bankers,  from  the  country  justice 
to  the  United  States  Senator,  you  would  find  that 
none  of  them  outclassed  the  lumberman  in  wit, 
humor,  ability  and  behavior  in  the  days  of  the 
Shanty-man's  life  while  lumbering  White  Pine. 


34 


CHAPTER  II. 


!HIS  is  not  a  history  of  the  woods,  not 
withstanding  such  records  have  never 
been  written;  but  these  pages  were 
provoked  because  of  a  steady  and  in 
creasing  demand  for  the  printed  deeds,  destinies, 
lives  and  fortunes  of  these  jolly  men  who  made 
lumbering  famous  during  the  days  of  White  Pine. 
And  furthermore  to  thrill  and  amuse  the  readers 
with  the  \vit  and  humor,  courage  and  pathos,  ac 
cident  and  tragedy  of  a  score  or  more  of  those 
mystic  men  who  gave  their  time  and  talent  to 
build  cities,  while  they  destroyed  forests;  among 
whom,  standing  a  peer  amid  his  fellows,  was 
Nick  of  the  Woods.  Of  all  the  sons  of  calloused 
toil,  perhaps  not  a  single  one  ever  arose  above 
the  zenith  of  this  unheralded  prodigy,  in  the  oak 
of  principle,  the  rock  of  physique,  the  versatility^ 
of  mentality  and  the  poise  of  manhood. 

Dad  Gordon  had  finished  his  continued  story 
of  the  black  fox.    After  exhausting  the  resources 

35 


of  many  a  backwoods  Hoosier,  and  eluding  every 
pursuit  by  occult  if  not  by  proverbial  strategy, 
the  cunning  and  mysterious  animal  was  taken, 
skinned  and  dressed,  the  bounty  paid  in  full. 

The  camp  was  to  close  down  for  the  Holidays. 
The  foreman  expressed  a  desire  to  get  acquainted 
with  his  wife,  as  he  had  not  seen  her  since  the 
spring  drive.  A  new  cook  was  to  be  secured,  and 
the  maority  of  the  men  wished  a  week  of  rest, 
and  so  the  work  was  discontinued  till  after  the 
Holidays.  The  checks  had  been  dealt  out  to  the 
members  of  the  logging  staff;  each  fellow  was 
given  as  much  as  he  felt  the  need  of  to  carry 
him  over  the  vacation,  provided,  of  course,  that 
he  had  that  amount  to  his  credit.  Many  of  the 
men  had  been  in  since  the  Fourth  of  July  without 
the  loss  of  a  single  day  and  could  draw  a  clean 
hundred  and  fifty  if  he  chose. 

After  supper  the  night  before  Christmas, 
while  the  men  were  seated  in  rows  around  the 
camp  eating  apples  which  were  given  them  by 
the  cook,  who  was  leaving  his  position,  and  were 
engaged  in  loud  and  exciting  conversations  about 
what  they  were  going  to  do  and  where  they  were 
going  to  go  to  spend  the  outing,  two  gentlemen, 

36 


attended  by  the  second  cook,  entered  the  camp. 
They  were  well  dressed,  showed  themselves 
agreeable  and  were  strangers  to  each  other.  At 
once  they  engaged  in  conversation  and  spent  the 
evening  talking  to  different  members  of  the  crew. 

One  was  Guy  Clute  and  represented  the  Lou 
isiana  State  Lottery;  he  made  a  number  of  sales 
and  seemed  very  popular.  The  other  was  an 
agent  representing  the  Mercy  Hospital,  the  only 
real  charity  resort  in  the  lumber  zone.  He  was 
not  so  successful,  though  his  representatives  were 
everywhere  worthy  and  was  a  blessing  to  the 
camp  men,  while  the  lottery  was  a  bane.  Nick 
and  a  few  others  invested  and  two  or  three  had 
their  old  tickets  renewed.  These  tickets  sold  for 
twenty  dollars  each  and  \vere  good  for  one  year. 
They  entitled  the  holder,  should  sickness  or  ac 
cident  overtake  him,  to  a  bed  and  board,  a  doc 
tor  and  a  nurse,  till  death  or  recovery.  The  camp 
men  were  victims  very  many  times  because  of 
their  honesty  and  innocence;  frequently  the 
grafters  appeal  to  them  before  the  Scarlet  Wo 
men  spread  their  captivating  snare  or  the  saloon 
keeper  gave  his  transforming  nectar. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  Murphy  called 
37 


for  breakfast.  Ed  Shaffer  had  broken  his  sus 
penders;  he  was  saving  money  to  start  a  gin  mill 
and  was  too  stingy  to  buy  a  new  pair.  Dalb 
said  to  him,  "Ed,  if  swearing  would  mend  or  re 
store  them,  you  would  have  a  carload  to  give 
away."  Billy  Fitz  had  his  socks  on  the  wrong 
feet,  Tom  Hogan  was  trying  to  squeeze  his  num 
ber  twelve  into  Steve  Whallin's  number  eight 
boot.  The  cook  had  burned  the  stack  of  cakes, 
Scoby  was  blustering  at  the  jacks,  when  the  train 
gave  the  two  toots  for  off  brakes,  like  so  many 
wildcats,  belts  unbuckled,  grain  bags  half  closed, 
jackets  flapping,  caps  thrust  on  awry.  This  body 
of  hardscrabbles  mounted  the  trainload  of  logs 
which  was  to  bear  them  to  the  junction  where 
they  would  transfer  for  the  lumber  metropolis. 

The  first  thing  the  members  of  the  crew  did 
when  they  reached  the  metropolis  was  to  hasten 
to  the  bank  with  their  checks  to  have  them 
cashed  and  after  this  they  scattered  and  were  lost 
in  the  shuffle  of  the  crowds. 

There  was  an  old  wooden  building  four  stories 
high  with  a  bar  adjoining  which  was  the  favorite 
inn  for  the  timber  men;  at  this  noisy  and  much 
patronized  resort  many  of  the  fellows  from  Nor- 


\vay  Haul  spent  their  time. 

Nick  and  Max  had  secured  a  room  in  this  fa 
vorite  place  with  several  others  and  here  they 
spent  the  entire  vacation.  Nick  sent  a  few  gifts, 
attended  mass,  wrote  letters,  told  stories  in  the 
bar  room  and  had  a  dandy  good  time.  Max 
boozed  a  bit,  retired  late,  arose  ugly,  quarreled 
and  browbeat  his  brother  and  his  friends.  Nick 
talked  to  Max  about  his  uncivil  behavior,  telling 
him  that  a  son  of  Erin,  and  of  such  parents  as 
they  had,  was  a  disgrace  to  both  his  parents  and 
his  country.  Max  resented  it  sharply  by  assert 
ing  that  he  was  not  subject  to  his  brother's  boss 
ing  and  he  earned  his  own  money  and  would 
spend  it  as  he  pleased,  and  then  he  went  and  got 
roaring  full.  Nick  was  afraid  he  would  get  in 
some  serious  trouble,  and  so  he  entered  the 
saloon  expecting  to  find  him  and  hoping  to  get 
him  to  the  room.  Max  was  not  in  the  saloon, 
however,  and  the  bartender  showed  himself  very 
cordial.  He  was  dressed  finely,  wore  a  pair  of 
twelve-dollar  trousers  and  sported  a  big  diamond 
stud,  and  when  he  extended  his  soft  hand  Nick 
grasped  it  and  heard  for  the  first  time  on  these 
shores  "I  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas."  How 

39 


very  unfortunate  this  was.  How  sad  to  know 
that  the  first  Merry  Christmas  was  wished  him 
by  a  man  who  sold  booze.  Nick  referred  to  it 
long  years  after  as  "Drawing  a  bad  card  from 
the  pack  of  fortune."  So  it  was  that  the  bar 
tender  gave  Nick  a  card  inviting  him  to  a  pig- 
roast  that  night  and  a  free  lunch.  There  was  not 
a  hotel  nor  a  private  boarding  house  that  did 
more  to  please  their  patrons  than  did  this  saloon 
on  that  occasion.  The  free  lunch  counter,  loaded 
with  almost  every  kind  of  edibles,  hot  frank- 
forts,  bal.t  d  duck  and  roast  pork  included. 

There  were  many  of  the  men  really  too  stingy 
to  drink,  which  is  a  virtue  when  carried  to  such 
a  fortification,  and  would  to  God  more  of  them 
were  stingy.  Other  fellows  had  no  desire  for 
drink;  they  found  sweeter  joys.  But  many  who 
were  stingy  drank;  they  would  not  feel  the  pre- 
ciousness  of  coin  nor  the  sacrifice  of  bone  labor 
when  they  were  fired  by  demon  alcohol.  There 
was  a  large  per  cent  of  the  men  who  had  no 
moral  obligations  nor  religious  training;  true, 
they  came  from  respectable  families,  but  left 
home  early  in  life  and  had  never  been  taught 
that  health  and  prosperity  depended  entirely  on 

40 


good  behavior.  Then  please  bear  in  mind  that 
the  majority  were  in  their  youth  and  that  they 
have  changed,  many  of  them  in  after  years  be~ 
coming  men  of  profession,  merchants  of  note, 
mechanics  and  farmers  of  great  usefulness  and 
progress. 

Billy  Fitz  spent  the  week  with  his  mother. 
She  opened  up  the  most  precious  jars  of  pre 
serves,  cooked  her  fattest  turkey,  and  made  cran 
berry  sauce.  She  wondered  at  his  courage  when 
he  told  her  how  early  he  had  to  get  up  In  the 
morning,  and  assured  him  she  was  glad  some 
body  was  more  successful  than  she  had  been  in 
waking  him  up. 

One  lad  ate  ten  pounds  of  pretzels  and  soaked 
up  a  keg  of  silver  foam  and  was  heaving  up 
Jonah  when  the  train  stopped  at  McBrides. 

Fisher  purchased  a  set  of  fiddle  strings,  lay 
around  on  the  benches,  slept,  ate  hot  cross  buns, 
read  a  love  story,  sang  a  carol  or  two  and  spun 
3rarns  meanwhile. 

Rogers  sashayed  the  city  with  his  new  queen, 
Maybelle,  took  'in  the  dances,  ordered  oyster 
stews  and  bought  a  bouquet  of  cut  flowers. 

Jim  O'Brien  and  Dick  Elwood  hired  a  livery 
41 


rig,  but  the  team  was  fractious  and  they  were 
tipsy;  as  they  rounded  a  street  corner  at  top 
most  speed,  the  cutter  turned  turtle,  spilling  them 
into  a  heap  of  snow  which  took  them  in  as  though 
they  had  dropped  into  the  bottomless  pit.  Next 
day  the  city  street  commissioner  wrote  them  a 
note,  telling  them  if  they  were  the  parties  who 
leveled  off  the  streets  to  please  call  and  get  their 
pay- 

Two  of  the  lads  had  been  to  town  the  Thanks 
giving  before  and  had  ordered  a  chicken  dinner 
in  a  colored  restaurant;  as  they  were  passing  by 
the  place  where  they  ordered  the  dinner  on 
Thanksgiving  without  coming  in  after  it,  the 
keeper  saw  them  and  knew  them.  He  rushed  to 
the  door  and  said,  "Hay,  thar,  you  fellow,  them 
chickens  am  jist  dun." 

Billy  Wells,  the  second  cook,  enjoyed  a  peace 
ful  time  with  his  family,  had  his  clothing  washed, 
socks  darned,  mittens  faced  and  came  back  re 
freshed. 

Nick  blew  the  froth  from  the  Boot  Leg 
slipped  to  him  by  the  barkeeper,  poured  the  con 
tents  into  a  spacious  cuspidor,  consumed  the 
roast  pork  and  baked  duck,  relished  the  radish 

42 


and  boiled  egg,  smacked  down  the  rye  bread  and 
switzer,  winked  at  a  pretty  girl  passing  by  and 
elbowed  his  way  out  of  the  blear-eyed,  bragging 
bunch  of  brawlers. 

It  was  the  fifth  day  of  January  when  the 
camp  opened  up  again  for  business.  Some  of  the 
lads  never  came  back  to  Norway  Haul.  Others 
came  in  too  late  and  found  their  places  filled. 
With  a  few  exceptions  the  lads  were  all  on  the 
job.  They  were  blue  a  bit,  some  had  the  big 
head  and  a  few  had  black  eyes,  others  were  gen 
erally  upset,  because  city  life  the  wray  they  had 
lived  wTas  very  disagreeable  and  expensive. 

All  went  well  till  the  last  day  of  February, 
when  Harry  Phillips,  who  had  ridden  to  dinner 
on  the  engine,  tried  to  jump  off  and  land  right 
side  up,  but  had  slipped  and  bent  his  Irish  mug 
almost  beyond  recognition.  Next  day  Dick  El- 
wood  cut  his  foot.  Dalb  examined  the  boot  be 
fore  he  saw  Elwood  and  remarked  if  the  gash  in 
his  foot  is  any  relation  to  the  slash  in  the  boot 
it's  a  good  hearted  cut.  Two  days  after  this  Bill 
Blockston  was  kicked  sky-high  by  a  loading 
horse,  and  following  these  catastrophes  Joe 
Reeda,  mossback  teamster,  the  clown  of  the 

43 


woods,  nofed  for  awkwardness — he  couldn't  walk 
without  stepping  on  himself — while  draying  out 
a  load  of  logs  stumbled,  fell  headlong,  the  team 
jerked  sideways  by  the  reins  tipped  over  the  loac? 
on  the  unlucky  driver,  and  when  he  was  extri 
cated  from  the  mess  he  had  a  broken  leg  and  a 
bruised  arm, 

A  liberal  subscription  was  taken  for  each  of 
these  unfortunates.  As  the  boss  came  to  Jimmy 
O'Brien  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted  to  give 
he  said,  "Oh!  a  flat  dollar,  but,"  said  he,  "don't 
take  the  one  I  earned  today;  it  is  too  cold,  I  had 
to  work  too  hard  for  it;  take  out  the  dollar  I 
earned  yesterday." 

Nick  and  Max  had  not  missed  a  single  day; 
they  were  much  admired  by  the  boss  and  favor 
ites  of  the  entire  gang.  They  had  been  well 
reared  and  properly  educated.  Their  parents 
had  suffered  because  they  had  taken  an  active 
part  in  an  Irish  revolt.  Their  father  had  long 
been  a  Home  Rule  hero,  and  had  paid  the  price 
for  his  patriotism.  Their  mother  was  reared 
near  the  Giant's  Causeway.  When  the  Spanish 
Armada  was  destroyed  by  a  tempest  on  the  deep 
and  by  British  cannon,  several  of  those  proud 

44 


Castilians  came  ashore  in  North  Ireland.  They 
dared  not  go  back  to  Spain  and  were  refused 
harbor  in  England.  One  of  these  men  of  renown 
married  an  Irish  girl,  and  Nick's  mother  de 
scended  from  that  union.  Nick  inherited  con 
siderable  of  this  chivalry,  enough  so  that  it  had 
its  effect  on  all  his  life.  Nick  was  a  handsomely 
built  fellow,  six  feet  three  inches  in  height, 
broad  shouldered,  deep-chested,  and  regular  in 
proportion.  He  had  a  Grecian  nose,  Scotch  blue 
eyes,  a  big  orotund  of  a  mouth  and  long  Spanish 
locks,  like  those  worn  when  "Knighthood  was  in 
Flower." 

On  Saturday  afternoon  as  he  and  Max  were 
cutting  down  a  tall,  shaggy  tree,  unexpectedly 
it  started  to  split  up.  Nick  tried  to  save  the  saw 
as  the  tree  crossed  the  stump,  a  sliver  stripped 
from  the  sap,  flew  like  a  whip-lash  and  inflicted 
a  severe  wound  in  his  thigh.  He  was  carried  to 
camp  and  the  wound  bandaged.  But  after  the 
doctor  had  been  called  it  was  decided  that  he 
must  go  to  the  hospital.  After  he  was  examined 
by  the  House  Physician  in  the  hospital  the  wound 
was  found  much  worse  than  was  expected.  At 
once  he  began  to  suffer  severe  pains.  His  brother 

45 


Max  attended  him  closely  and  came  several  times 
every  day  to  find  out  his  condition.  The  fifth 
day  blood-poisoning  set  in,  and  Nick  was  thought 
incurable.  He  was  unconscious  for  many  days, 
his  leg  was  swollen  twice  its  usual  size  and  he 
was  black  and  blue  up  to  his  waist.  After  he 
began  to  recover  honors  were  conferred  upon 
Sister  Amelia,  a  faithful  and  patient  nurse,  be 
cause  it  was  her  persistence  and  unceasing  at 
tendance  that  pulled  the  lumberman  through. 
May  I  add  that  this  persistence  was  born  not  all 
professionally,  but  partly  out  of  a  personal  affec 
tion  which  Amelia  had  for  the  patient  and  obe 
dient  lumberman. 


46 


CHAPTER  III. 

PRIL  was  drawing  to  a  close  when  the 
nurse  championed  over  the  Pale-Horse- 
Rider— "DEATH"— and  when  Nick  was 
able  to  sit  up,  the  lumber  crew  had 
scattered  and  the  camp  was  closed  at  Norway 
Haul.  The  yellow  adder  tongues  were  blooming 
in  the  valleys  of  the  thick  woods,  the  lilies  white 
as  the  robes  of  winter  on  the  hills;  everywhere 
the  banks  were  bursting  with  green  and  the 
fields  were  aflame  with  flowers.  Nature  had 
kindly  beautified  the  beds  of  the  logging  roads 
with  pansy  blossoms,  and  set  the  forest  athrill 
with  song. 

As  Nick  grew  stronger  he  was  permitted  to 
take  an  outing.  First  he  was  wheeled  out  and 
afterwards  trusted  to  a  crutch  and  then  a  cane. 
After  a  few  weeks  he  was  able  to  walk  to  the 
river,  where  the  river-men  were  at  work.  Many 
hours  he  spent  watching  them  roll  the  logs  into 
the  deep  channel  from  the  wing-jams  and  beach- 

47 


heaps  as  they  were  twisted  in  a  mass  like  a  box 
of  spilled  matches.  How  charming  to  watch 
these  fearless  fellows  as  they  rode  out  over  the 
deep  waters  and  with  jam-pike  and  peavey  urged 
the  lazy  logs  to  the  busy  mills  at  the  mouth  of 
the  rolling  river. 

Usually  in  the  afternoon  rambles  his  nurse, 
Amelia,  would  spend  her  out-of-doors  hour  with 
Nick,  and  they  would  sit  and  watch  the  river- 
men  under  the  railroad  bridge  at  that  dangerous 
and  scenic  vocation.  They  were  a  bold  lot  of 
drivers,  and  like  all  true  sports  their  daring  feats 
increased  particularly  when  they  were  watched 
by  spectators.  Without  the  least  fear  or  hesita 
tion  they  would  ride  through  the  roaring  rapid 
flume  on  a  peeled  pine  where  the  frothing,  boil 
ing  waters  ran  thirty  miles  an  hour.  Sometimes 
two  would  ride  the  same  log,  other  times  one 
would  ride  two  logs,  a  single  slip  or  a  twist  of 
the  tossing  log  might  draw  the  calk  from  his 
hold  and  dash  the  rider  to  instant  death.  Buck 
ing  bronks  and  Texan  steers  are  easy  feats  com 
pared  to  the  dashing,  burling,  tumbling  and 
twisting  logs,  struggling  with  the  gigantic  powers 
of  tons  of  water  trying  to  hurl  the  rider  from  the 

48 


unsaddled   back    of   that   slippery    and    difficult 
charger. 

At  length  the  crutch  was  discarded  and  Nick 
only  used  a  cane;  he  was  loath  to  lay  that  aside 
because  he  would  have  no  reason  to  linger  in 
the  hospital  and  he  looked  forward  to  the  day 
of  departure  with  no  little  dread,  because  he  had 
learned  to  love  the  companionship  of  the  beau 
tiful  Amelia.  Day  after  day  they  continued  their 
visitations  to  the  river  and  their  affection  mu 
tually  increased  with  every  ramble.  After  each 
happy  stroll  he  would  say,  "Tomorrow,  Sister 
Amelia,"  and  she  would  reply,  "Yes,  again  tomor 
row."  The  cane  at  last  became  a  mere  toy,  and 
no  longer  served  as  an  excuse  for  the  lumber 
man  to  tarry  at  the  hospital.  Both  well  knew 
that  the  discharge  would  come  very  soon. 

One  sunny  afternoon  as  they  were  seated  upon 
a  boom-pole,  which  was  swung  out  over  the 
stream,  a  fair  face  looked  up  at  them  from  below 
where  the  rivermen  were  wrestling  with  a  huge 
dead-head  stuck  on  a  sand-bar;  that  fair  face  ex 
changed  a  smiling  greeting  with  the  blushing 
Amelia,  and  she  smiled  in  return.  Nick  saw  that 
blush  and  smile  and  never  forgot  it  till  his  dying 

49 


day.  Then  that  fair  face  turned  to  the  blackness 
of  pitchy  night  and  shot  a  sharp,  cold  glance  like 
a  blade  of  poisoned  steel  at  the  pale  convalescent 
shanty-man.  Volumes  of  envy  and  revenge  could 
be  read  in  that  one  last  look  he  gave  Nick. 

They  had  often  resorted  hither  with  ease  and 
complacency,  but  now  suspicion  haunted  him 
and  he  suggested  a  new  place  for  recreation  and 
ramble.  Nick  was  greatly  puzzled  over  the  un 
known  riverman;  he  wondered  who  he  was  and 
where  Amelia  had  formed  his  acquaintance.  He 
had  felt  for  the  past  few  weeks  that  he  had  no 
rivals,  but  now  he  knew  by  that  smile  accom 
panied  with  a  reddening  complexion  that  Amelia 
was  more  than  passing  friendly  with  the  driver 
on  the  Big  Muskegon.  Nick  was  tempted  to  ask 
Amelia  for  a  full  explanation,  but  what  right 
had  he  to  do  this?  She  had  a  moral  right  to 
know  men  and  she  legally  owned  her  own  frowns 
and  laughter;  thus  he  reasoned,  and  instead  of 
having  a  thorough  understanding  of  the  whole 
matter  he  carelessly  remained  in  a  quandary. 
What  a  difference  it  wrould  have  made  with  them 
both  had  he  have  been  as  frank  with  her  as  he 
was  wont  to  be,  had  he  only  have  expressed  his 

50 


embarrassment  when  she  bestowed  those  gener 
ous  smiles  upon  others  and  urged  her  to  only 
allow  him  to  feed  upon  those  maiden  blushes,  the 
tale  of  the  campman  would  be  different. 

Behind  that  white  veil  beat  a  human  heart, 
not  unlike  those  of  many  other  true  and  noble 
women.  Love  snaps  every  tie  that  earth  has  yet 
invented,  if  that  tie  is  to  sever  those  who  hunger 
to  be  united.  Is  it  possible  to  love  two  at  the 
same  time?  This  is  oft  disputed.  Bobbie  Burns 
thought  not — his  only  love  was  sleeping  in  the 
land  of  Ayr  by  the  gentle  Afton  waters  and  no 
other  could  arise  to  shine  over  his  dark  life  like 
Highland  Mary,  and  so  in  four  lines  he  pens  his 
tragedy : 

"Had  we  never  loved  so  kindly, 
Had  we  never  loved  so  blindly, 
Never  met  nor  never  parted 
We  would  ne'er  been  broken  hearted." 
Lord   Byron,   with   his   powers   of   expression 
unsurpassed  and  with  personal   experiences   un 
equalled,  for  the  Don  Juan  he  writes  about  was 
himself,   first  writes   of  his  love,   Haidea,   as   he 
rambles  the  South  Sea  Islands  amid  the  fronded 
palms,   and   then  the  fair  Spanish  queen  whose 

51 


dark  eyes  dripped  with  love's  honeyed  dew  was 
his  fawn  in  old  Madrid.     And  a  third  love  stole 
his  heart,  the  Grecian  belle,  and  he  writes: 
"Maid  of  Athens,  ere  I  part 

Give  oh!  give  me  back  my  heart," 
and  after  this  he  finds  other  soul-mates  and 
charming  idols,  and  so  runs  the  argument,  and 
herein  the  experiences  strangely  woven  by  the 
mystic  fingers  of  fate  were  not  alien  to  the  events 
and  experiences  of  those  who  lived  in  other  king 
doms  and  distant  ages. 

Sister  Amelia  had  never  been  doubted  in  her 
devotion,  but  of  late  there  was  some  misgiving 
awakened  in  the  bosom  of  the  Mother  Superior. 
She  knew  the  nurse  was  love-bound  and  she 
prayed  ardently  that  God  \vould  break  the  spell 
and  restore  her  to  her  holy  and  heavenly  calling. 
She  had  little  or  no  fear  that  earth  would  tri 
umph  over  heaven.  Not  a  single  Nun  had  ever 
broken  her  vow  in  the  ranks  of  those  mighty  and 
immaculate  millions  who  had  given  their  all — 
friends,  loved  ones,  kindred  ties  and  earthly  am 
bitions;  surely  Amelia,  the  patient  and  true, 
would  not  disgrace  her  heavenly  calling.  She 
knew  the  day  was  dawning  when  the  physician 

62 


would  discharge  Nick  and  then  he  would  disap 
pear  and  be  forgotten. 

It  was  nightfall  by  the  murmuring  river.  Nick 
of  the  Woods  and  Amelia,  the  Nun,  were  nearing 
the  poplar  shades  which  surrounded  the  Mercy 
Hospital,  and  as  they  walked  and  talked  the  con 
versation  turned  to  the  future  with  an  afterglow 
of  their  painted  past. 

"It  has  been  pleasure  rather  than  pain  to  be 
here,"  he  remarked. 

"Has  it?  Indeed,  a  compliment  for  the  hospi 
tal,"  said  Amelia. 

"Yes,"  he  retorted,  "and  your  goodness  forced 
the  compliment." 

"Oh !  don't  rob  the  hospital  of  her  mercy,  Nick, 
and  turn  over  the  treasures  to  a  nurse." 

"I  am  not,  Sister;  cold  brick  and  pine  floors, 
iron  beds  and  doctors  never  made  anybody  warm 
in  praise,  and  so  you  represent  the  hospital  and 
may  assume  the  compliment."  As  he  finished 
his  last  words  he  stooped,  thrust  aside  the  dead 
branch  of  a  thornapple  that  challenged  the  way 
and  plucked  a  sprig  of  Sweet  Arbutus  and  gave 
his  fond  compainon. 

"I  have  learned  things  I  had  forgotten  about 
53 


women  and  medicine,"  he  said,  "since  I  have 
been  here,  too." 

"What  have  you  learned  about  medicine, 
Nickr 

"I  have  learned  that  it  is  spelled  in  four  let 
ters,  c-a-r-e,  and  that  it  is  faith  when  it  heals 
and  only  bitter  drugs  when  it  fails.  When  mother 
wished  to  heal  the  bruised  boy  or  girl  that  fell 
down  at  home  she  would  wet  her  fingers  with 
her  tongue  and  rub  on  \vhat  she  called  'Soldier 
Salve*  and  it  always  cured;  that  was  childish 
faith." 

"And  what  have  you  learned  about  women?" 

"Oh!  lots  of  things  I  had  forgotten;  mother 
and  sisters  had  taught  us  at  home,  but  hard 
words  and  hardships  has  knocked  them  all  into 
a  cocked  hat.  Camp  life  is  cold  as  cannon  balls, 
coarse  as  the  hair  on  a  Clydesdale,  it  is  bad 
women  and  masculine  thought,  rough  wit  and 
rude  behavior.  I  have  been  taken  back  a  bit 
towrard  innocent  and  quiet  beauty  and  will  miss 
it  when  I  get  back  in  camp." 

"This,"  he  added  slowly,  "is  our  last  walk  to 
gether,  for  I  am  going  away  tomorrow." 

"But,"  she  added,  "you  haven't  been  dis- 
54 


charged  by  the  physician  yet." 

"I  don't  need  that;  I  was  not  told  by  him  that 
I  was  hurt,  neither,*'  he  said  rather  humorously, 
"and  I  also  know  when  I  am  well — I  have  to 
thank  you  for  health,  I'm  no  heathen,  and  I 
thank  you,  too,  and  that's  all  I  have  now,  but 
some" — here  Nick  was  interrupted.  Amelia  laid 
her  hand  gently  on  his  brawny  arm  and  shook 
him  slightly,  shaking  her  head,  indicating  that 
she  knew  his  words  would  fall  short  of  the  mark 
\vhich  his  appreciative  actions  had  not  missed. 

"And  have  you  told  me  all  you  have  learned 
about  women  of  late?"  she  inquired  rather  shyly, 
as  she  tucked  the  arbutus  blossom  under  her 
white  veil  against  her  fair  temple  almost  as  pure 
and  delicate  as  the  flower,  the  favorite  of  God 
and  man. 

"No,  Sister,  I  have  learned  many  other  les 
sons,  but  it's  too  late  to  recite  them  tonight." 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  they  arrived  at  the 
hospital;  he  looked  mysteriously  at  her  and  she 
stood  half  expecting  him  to  give  expressions  to 
his  thoughts  which  seemed  struggling  for  words 
to  unload  them,  when  the  sacred  chimes  of  the 
curfew  clock  struck  the  hour  of  eight.  Like  the 

55 


day  of  doom,  the  silvery  song  ran  up  and  down 
the  corridors  and  every  inhabitant  knew  that  this 
was  the  hour  for  prayer  and  meditation. 

Sister  Amelia  arose  early  and  gladly  assisted 
Nick  in  packing  his  newly-washed  clothing  in  his 
brand  new  grain  sack,  the  traveling  bag  of  the 
typical  lumberman.  She  tied  the  top  neatly  and 
accompanied  him  to  the  river,  where  they  could 
take  their  farewell  unobserved. 

Nick  had  never  whispered  a  single  word 
about  his  love  to  Amelia  nor  any  other  person. 
He  knew  that  it  was  impossible  to  love  a  Nun 
with  any  degree  of  reciprocation,  and  well  knew 
the  Clergy  would  never  tolerate  it  for  a  single 
second.  She  had  never  given  him  cause  to  make 
a  committal  of  the  same,  as  she  was  conscious  of 
his  ardent  love  and  cheerful  sacrifice  for  his  own 
beloved  Church. 

Nick  had  but  one  right  to  claim  as  he  was 
taking  his  departure  and  that  was  the  right  of 
friendship,  and  can  love  be  spelled  like  that?  He 
had  been  well  reared,  but  is  there  any  rearing 
that  will  fit  one  to  govern  love's  proud  passion? 
The  records  of  lords  and  ladies  utterly  disprove 
it.  What  did  she  seek,  an  Irish  boy  with  orange 

56 


Mackinaws?  Without  finance,  profession  or  a 
business?  No.  She  was  attracted  hy  what  he  was 
and  not  by  what  he  had.  She  saw  the  real  back 
ground  of  manhood,  and  loved  it,  if  it  wears 
denim  or  velvet  it  is  exactly  alike.  Venus  passed 
by  her,  soft  eyes  gazed  on  him  burning  and  ten 
der,  her  attitude  may  have  been  inopportune,  or 
unwise,  but  there  was  no  remedy.  Two  rivals 
had  met  on  a  fair  field  of  war — faith  and  love — 
and  love  was  crowned  Empress  forever. 

Do  you  know  the  secret  of  the  Black  and 
White  veils?  If  you  do  you  will  appreciate  all 
the  more  the  meaning  inscribed  here,  and  if  you 
do  not  know  you  will  ascertain  and,  at  both 
events,  you  will  be  the  wiser. 

These  two  wandered  listlessly,  each  struggling 
with  former  vows  and  present  heart-throbs;  they 
came  to  a  bend  in  the  road  that  followed  the 
bluff  that  overhung  the  river.  Before  them  were 
the  tall,  slender  Norway  waving  in  the  gentle 
winds  singing  pine  tree  music;  behind  them  was 
the  busy  little  city  ateem  with  life  and  labor.  From 
where  they  stood  they  could  see  the  Church 
spire  rising  like  a  holy  beacon  pointing  them  to 
heaven,  the  seat  of  duty  and  the  convocation  of 

'57 


saints.  The  birds  warbled  around  them,  the 
arbutus  was  in  blossom,  the  silver  river  sang  as 
it  flowed  so  softly  down  between  the  clay  banks 
and  sild  under  the  great  iron  bridge.  They 
stopped,  she  must  return,  he  must  go  onward, 
accident  had  led  them  together,  duty  witnessed 
the  union  and  love  forged  the  link.  Nick  felt 
an  impulse  to  make  an  open  confession  of  his 
love,  he  knew  there  was  something  on  her  part 
more  than  friendship;  and  it  was  now  plainly 
written  in  characters  of  love's  pink  flame  alter 
nating  like  the  rosy  glow  of  the  Arctic  Aurora 
upon  her  choice  cheeks  tinged  with  the  heart's 
ruddy  nectar.  Yet  he  reasoned  this  would  but 
augment  her  emotions,  and  so  reason  surpressed 
love.  Nick  extended  his  hand  as  he  hitched  up 
his  shoulders  to  straighten  the  sack  that  hung 
suspended  from  his  back.  Warmly  the  Nun 
grasped  the  big,  hard  hand  and  gazed  into  his 
honest  countenance,  she  read  his  thoughts  there 
in  language  that  needs  no  schooling.  She  saw  the 
broad  and  giant  breast  heaving  slightly  like  a 
summer  sea  trembles  with  an  under  tide,  that 
bosom  upon  which  her  hot  tears  had  fallen  when 
he  was  unconscious  of  it  and  when  she  was 

58 


grappling  to  defeat  grim  death,  and  set  up  in 
stead  the  king  of  life.  For  a  moment  only  they 
lingered  and  these  moments  are  so  brief,  she 
took  her  last  view  at  that  forehead  that  was  to 
cherish  her  memory  forever,  a  heart-throb  and  a 
pulse-beat.  She  said  "Sometime"  and  he  an 
swered  "Yes,  Amelia." 

As  he  looked  back  from  the  last  knob  where 
the  lower  river  and  the  bluff  road  are  visible 
he  saw  her  still  standing  where  they  parted,  and 
he  repeated: 

"If  you  watch  your  lover  out  o'  sight, 
It  will  bring  you  grief  and  pain, 
For  if  you  follow  that  ancient  rite, 
He  will  never  come  back  again." 
She  went  back  to  the  hospital  that  had  for 
ever  lost  its  charms,  and  the  duty  that  was  not 
any  longer  a  mission  of  unselfish  love.     She  was 
tempted  many  times  to  revisit  the  river  and  look 
for  the  wearer  of  that  fair  face,  but  memories 
haunted   her,    and   she   never  saw    another  face 
that  awakened  within  her  the  thrill  and  anxiety, 
that  provoked  the  rapidity  of  the  heart  action  as 
did  the  loved  and  lost  Nick  of  the  Woods. 


59 


CHAPTER  IV. 

!HE  shanty-man  traveled  the  tow-path 
alone;  Max,  his  brother,  had  forsaken 
him  and  joined  the  crew  at  the  Board- 
man.  But  one  now  engaged  his  mind 
and  that  was  the  impossible  one.  Was  it  wrong 
for  him  to  question  society?  Was  it  sin  for  him 
to  blame  the  Church?  On  an  Easter  Day  he  had 
knelt,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  by  his  mother's  side 
and  drank  from  the  Holy  Crail  the  Master's 
blessings,  and  had  they  been  real  blessings?  He 
walked  and  thought,  and  thoughts  were  the 
stronger.  Before  he  was  aware  of  it  he  reached 
the  tents  of  the  rivermen,  which  were  eighteen 
miles  up  stream;  these  miles  had  been  reduced 
to  a  morning  ramble  because  he  lived  in  Cupid's 
Castle. 

Neil  Beaten  had  long  been  foreman  of  the 
beat  at  the  big  bend  of  the  Muskegon  River,  but 
had  been  promoted  to  the  coveted  and  elevated 
position  of  "walking  boss."  Nick  stopped  at  the 

60 


camp  for  dinner  and  asked  for  employment.  He 
\vas  shocked  and  surprised  to  see  that  the  newly 
chosen  boss  was  none  other  than  the  riverman 
who  had  looked  up  at  him  and  Amelia  as  they 
were  seated  at  the  boom-pole  under  the  bridge. 
He  felt  sure  he  would  be  refused,  but  in  this  he 
was  mistaken,  true  bosses  never  allow  personal 
dislikes  to  interfere  with  the  business  of  the 
firm  which  they  universally  seek  to  promote; 
and  he  did  not  know  whether  or  not  the  man 
placed  him  in  the  role  at  the  river  experience 
with  the  nurse,  but  he  did  gladly  give  him  em 
ployment  and  put  him  as  "push"  over  the  gang 
of  "Backers."  The  new  boss  did  not  betray  the 
slightest  sign  of  recognition,  and  if  he  did  know 
Nick  he  was  certainly  exceedingly  cool. 

The  newly  appointed  boss  was  a  well-known 
and  conspicuous  character.  He  could  hate  like 
a  beast  and  love  like  a  pigeon.  He  was  a  for 
midable  and  magnanimous  fellow.  Tall  and 
handsome,  quick  to  grasp  ideas  and  lightning  in 
executing  those  ideas,  he  was  visionary  and 
speculative,  fearless  as  an  African  lion  and  had 
never  been  bullied  by  any  lumberjack,  riverman 
or  tenderfoot.  He  was  known  as  the  "Black 

61 


Wolf'  and  hailed  from  Vassar.  Was  a  past- 
master  on  the  river,  the  lads  used  to  say  he 
could  ride  a  bubble,  but  actually  did  ride  across 
the  raging  Tittabawasse  on  an  empty  pork  barrel 
for  a  wager  of  ten  bucks.  This  was  the  boss 
Nick  had  to  cheat  or  beat.  But  Nick  was  more 
than  a  match  for  the  boss.  He  was  younger  and 
stronger  and  gifted  above  him  in  wit  and  wis 
dom.  While  Nick  was  open,  frank  and  very  free 
with  his  fellows,  the  Wolf  \vas  mum,  self-sus 
tained,  sly  and  morose.  He  could  smile  at  you 
and  drive  a  knife  to  the  hilt  in  your  heart.  Nick 
was  outwardly  and  inwardly  alike,  his  every  joy 
or  sorrow  was  written  upon  his  honest  counte 
nance. 

Dinner  was  over,  the  cook  had  given  Nick  a 
bunk  and  he  had  deposited  his  clean  grain  sack, 
at  the  charge  of  the  boss  taken  his  gang  of  six 
burly  fellows  to  the  shallow  water  to  sack.  The 
suspcious  Black  Wolf  sat  around  the  cook  tent 
and  as  he  passed  to  the  office  he  saw  the  clean 
white  sack  in  Nick's  bunk,  the  pink  strings  at 
the  mouth  attracted  him;  he  drew  near,  pulled 
at  the  strings,  they  untied  and  out  dropped  a 
neatly  folded  piece  of  paper  and  a  small  photo- 

62 


graph  of  a  Fair  young  girl.  What  a  temptation. 
He  stooped  and  picked  them  both  up,  the  face  he 
recognized  instantly  as  that  of  the  Nun  at  the 
hospital.  The  note  was  too  big  a  temptation  for 
him  to  master,  he  looked  around  to  see  that  no 
one  saw  him  and  then  he  unfolded  it,  read — and 
re-read — the  loving  lines  written  in  the  delicate 
hand  of  the  Nun,  expressing  her  love  for  Nick 
and  requesting,  if  he  really  loved  her  to  make  a 
reply.  Had  the  Black  Wolf  have  played  the  part 
of  a  man,  he  would  have  followed  his  first 
thought,  which  was  to  put  back  the  photo  and 
the  note,  and  let  Nick  find  them  and  keep  him 
self  aloof  from  the  love-affair.  Had  he  have 
done  this  what  a  difference  it  would  have  made  in 
three  lives.  But  manhood  was  to  fall  under  the 
blow  of  that  green-eyed  monster — JEALOUSY. 
The  test  of  his  weakness  came,  as  in  some  form 
or  another  it  comes  to  us  all.  He  was  weighed 
in  the  balance  and  found  wanting.  Dazed  with 
anger  and  his  past  disappointments,  he  crushed 
the  note  in  his  giant  palm  with  wild  emotion  and 
threw  it  in  the  fire;  then  he  watched  those  lines 
of  innocent  maiden  love  vanish  forever.  Little 
did  he  dream  that  all  his  future  happiness  and 

63 


peace  of  mind  burned  to  ashes  with  that  tiny 
scrap  of  paper.  He  tore  the  border  from  the 
picture  and  stuck  the  face  inside  the  crystal  of 
his  watch,  grabbed  his  peavey,  sought  the  men  and 
poured  out  his  spite  on  the  rivermen  who  had 
never  been  so  blindly  and  madly  driven  at  work 
as  they  were  that  afternoon. 

That  evening  the  Black  Wolf  sat  and  mut 
tered  as  he  thought  of  the  note  he  had  submitted 
to  the  flames.  "Ye  Gods,  fate  is  a  fiend;  why 
can't  I  have  something  but  husks,  nut  shells, 
rinds  and  core!  It  seems  that  all  the  devils  in 
hell  are  after  my  pelt,  I'll  make  it  hot  for  this 
d — n  bunch  this  season  and  that  lumber-lout 
Nick — I'll  skin  him  to  a  finish  and  he  will  know 
the  difference  between  tweedle-de  and  tweedle 
dum;  the  rind  on  him  to  come  here  with  love 
notes  and  photos  to  plague  me,  I  hate  the  whole 
creation  and  I  wish  everybody  was  dead." 

He  was  interrupted  in  his  mad  soliloquy  by 
a  gruff  but  good-natured  voice  sounding  a  deep 
musical,  "Hey  boss."  Was  the  welcome  spoken 
by  Nick?  "We  have  found  fifty  big  cork  pine 
logs  scaling  over  half  a  thousand  a  piece  that 
have  never  been  stamped;  what  do  you  think 

64 


about  thai  for  a  beginning?" 

Logs  floating  in  the  river  without  hammer 
marks  to  prove  the  firm  who  banked  them  w.ere 
the  property  of  the  finder.  This  lucky  find 
somewhat  brought  out  the  good  humor  in  the 
Wolf  and  together  he  and  his  sub-foreman 
hastened  to  the  bank  where  the  logs  were 
beached. 

The  logs  scaled  twenty-seven  thousand  feet 
and  sold  on  the  spot  for  six  dollars  per  thou 
sand.  The  local  firm  sent  their  stamper  over 
at  once  to  put  their  stamp  initials  on  the  newly 
purchased  property,  while  the  Wolf  and  Nick 
walked  to  camp. 

"Gee  whiz,"  exclaimed  the  Wolf,  "twenty- 
seven  six  dollars  bills  for  a  river  horse  boodle, 
they  look  eleven  feet  long;  who  would  have 
thuriked  it!" 

The  generous  Wolf  gave  his  under  overseer 
a  ten  spot  for  his  find  and  crammed  the  check 
given  him  by  the  lumber  company  down  his 
jeans.  The  find  put  an  extra  summer's  wages 
in  the  empty  pockets  of  the  boss,  but  even  this 
was  soon  past  and  forgotten. 

The  Fourth  of  July  came  with  its  feats  of 
65 


daring.  Knot-Maul  corners  located  on  either 
bank  of  the  mighty  river  held  a  big  celebration 
and  gave  a  liberal  purse  to  the  winner  of  each 
sport.  John  Price  won  the  ax  championship 
against  a  dozen  husky  wood  choppers.  The  feat 
was  to  chop  off  a  log  two  feet  in  diameter,  and 
Price  finished  an  easy  victor. 

The  broad  jump  was  pulled  off  and  Charley 
Monteith,  supple  as  a  deer,  hopped  off  twelve 
feet  and  two  inches.  Old  Ed  Rogers  picked 
up  the  sixteen  pound  dtimbell  and  lit  six  inches 
over  Montcith's  best  effort.  "The  money's  yours, 
old  pal,"  shouted  Monteith,  patting  Rogers  on 
the  shoulders  and  the  lumber  crew  shouted  like 
thunder. 

Then  the  leaders  put  up  the  tug-'o-war  be 
tween  the  rivermen  of  the  Big  Bend  and  the 
crew  at  the  mouth  of  Black  Sand  Creek.  A  two- 
inch  hawser  slipped  from  the  boom  pole  at  the 
bridge  was  enlisted  and  forty-eight  rough  and 
rugged  men  seized  the  rope.  The  prize  was  a 
barrel  of  beer  to  the  winners.  After  fully  ten 
minutes  of  cat-hauling,  mud-scraping  and  muscu 
lar  exhibitions,  the  crew  from  the  Big  Bend 
brought  the  other  gang  over  the  dead  line  and 

66 


won  the  prize. 

Then  the  free-for-all  foot  race  was  called  and 
Circus  Jack,  who  could  sprint  the  hundred  yards 
in  ten  seconds  with  a  plus  mark,  carried  the 
game  without  an  effort.  One  by  one  the  games 
were  put  forth  and  at  last  the  greatest  and  most 
exciting  game  of  all  was  called  up,  the  log-burl 
ing  contest. 

There  was  only  one  man  who  was  in  any  way 
a  match  for  the  Wolf  in  such  a  contest,  and  that 
man  was  Nick  of  the  Woods.  It  was  not  the 
policy  of  the  merchants  at  Knot-Maul  corners 
to  put  up  in  any  one  game  two  men  from  the 
same  locality,  but  rather  they  pick  men  who 
represented  different  quarters.  So  many  of  the 
old  and  well  experienced  log  riders  were  called 
upon  to  test  their  ability  with  the  Wolf  on  a 
log,  but  each  one  refused,  for  everybody  knew 
in  all  that  region  of  his  wonderful  dexterity  in 
that  particular. 

This  was  the  most  exciting  and  entertaining 
feat  of  the  whole  day  and  the  prize  was  valued 
at  twenty-five  dollars.  The  village  shoemaker, 
Bosse,  had  offered  this  reward,  which  was  a 
handsome  pair  of  river  boots  of  his  own  make. 

67 


They  were  triple  soled,  equipped  with  spring 
calks,  high  French  heels  and  the  tops  were  very 
nic«ly  stitched  with  silk  thread,  representing 
those  worn  by  the  Cattle  Kings  of  Utah. 

Nobody  would  go  up  against  the  Wolf  and  it 
looked  for  a  time  as  though  there  would  be  no 
burling  contest.  Nick  had  been  urged  by  a  few 
who  had  seen  him  perform  on  various  occasions, 
to  go  in  on  it,  as  all  others  had  refused,  and  the 
prize  would  not  be  given  unless  the  contest  really 
came  off.  He  had  taken  no  part  in  the  sports 
that  day  except  in  the  tug-'o-war,  and  his  side 
came  out  victorious,  so  after  several  fellows  urged 
him  and  no  one  else  could  be  induced,  he  peeled 
his  jacket  and  made  for  the  log. 

"What's  your  name?"  asked  the  secretary. 

"Nick  of  the  Woods,"  he  answered. 

"All  right,  go  to  it,"  came  the  permission. 

"Take  care,  the  water  is  ten  feet  deep,  cold 
as  ice  and  there  is  a  swift  under  current,"  warned 
the  village  Marshal. 

Nick  tightened  his  sash,  pulled  down  his  cap, 
picked  his  peavey  and  mounted  the  log.  The 
Wolf  frowned  as  he  saw  Nick  really  intended  to 
go  up  against  his  boss.  The  log  was  a  large  dry 

68 


pine,  selected  for  the  occasion,  it  would  hold  the 
two  logging  giants  easily  and  still  remain  six 
inches  above  the  water.  It  was  as  round  as  they 
could  choose,  but  had  a  bump  on  the  butt  end, 
which  was  chosen  by  the  Wolf  as  his  place  to 
burl.  The  river  was  full  of  boats  loaded  with 
eager  spectators,  the  boom  poles  and  logs  were 
alive  with  boys  and  younger  men  who  were  pre 
paring  for  the  drive  later  in  life.  The  river  was 
lined  with  women  and  girls,  farther  back  in  their 
wagons  and  surreys  sat  the  mossbacks  with  their 
families,  when  the  two  paragons  of  the  age  and 
mighty  athletic  rivermen  began  to  burl  the  log. 
The  feat  was  to  dump  the  other  fellow  into  the 
stream,  by  making  the  log  roll  so  fast  in  the 
water  that  he  could  not  stick  on.  And  the  rule 
was  that  the  fellow  who  was  dumped  twice  out 
of  three  times  was  the  loser.  The  Wolf  had  the 
advantage  for,  whenever  the  log  turned  round 
and  brought  up  the  bump  side  he  would  step 
on  the  bump  and  hasten  or  slacken  the  speed  at 
his  will. 

"Come  over  in  the  middle  and  let  her  spin," 
called  Nick. 

The  Wolf  was  game  and  saw  he  had  to  play 
69 


fair  or  lose  his  rep.  He  did  as  he  was  bidden 
— then  those  who  stood  by  saw  some  fine  work. 
After  several  seconds  of  the  most  rapid  burling 
they  had  ever  beheld  the  Wolf,  who  had  never 
before  been  ducked,  was  spun  free  from  the  log 
and  sent  sprawling  headlong  into  the  stream — 
he  swam  back  like  a  river  mink  and  mounted 
the  log  like  a  hero. 

"Dry  clothes,  boss!"  insisted  Nick. 

"Not  till  we  change  together,"  came  the  hot 
reply. 

Then  again  with  mighty  power  they  spun  that 
log  like  a  circular  saw  in  its  lightning  flight,  the 
water  frothed  and  foamed  while  this  great  log, 
three  feet  in  diameter,  revolved  under  the  calk 
boots  of  those  river  kings.  Nick  gave  the  log  a 
sudden  increase  of  speed  and  a  second  time  the 
defeated  Wolf  was  buried  in  the  waves. 

"It's  Nick  of  the  Woods'  prize,"  said  the  sec 
retary,  holding  up  the  finely  finished  pair  of 
boots.  A  few  cheered  when  these  words  were 
spoken,  but  the  mass  of  the  great  crowd  was  dis 
appointed,  they  expected  to  see  the  old  cham 
pion  drown  his  opponent.  The  sports  were  now 
over  and  the  prizes  were  awarded.  The  barrel 

70 


of  beer  was  tapped,  both  sides  drank  freely  and 
none  cared  and  few  remembered  by  whom  it  was 
won.  The  Black  Wolf  was  a  poor  loser;  every 
true  sport  takes  defeat  good  naturedly,  but  the 
Wolf  sneaked  off  without  even  thanking  the  fel 
lows  who  rooted  for  him,  and  had  always  on 
former  contests  cheered  his  victories. 

After  the  work  opened  up  again  at  the  Big 
Bend  the  men  plainly  saw  that  there  was  no 
such  a  thing  as  a  reconciliation  between  Nick 
and  the  Wolf.  And  all  very  easily  observed  that 
the  Wolf  was  putting  Nick  in  all  the  difficult 
and  dangerous  places,  out  of  which  the  latter 
had  escaped  successfully. 

A  few  weeks  after  Fourth  two  of  the  men 
were  engaged  in  chaining  a  boom  pole  to  a  big 
stump  which  stood  on  a  small  elevated  spot  of 
ground  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  that  was  an 
island  when  the  waters  were  normal;  but  over 
flowed  when  they  were  high.  Suddenly  the  chute- 
gate  was  tripped  by  some  unknown  power,  the  wa 
ters  were  high — they  had  been  dammed  up  for  a 
week — down  came  the  roaring  mighty  waters 
upon  the  two  unfortunate  men,  which  submerged 
them  beneath  the  waves;  they  struggled  to  their 

71 


feet,  stood  waist  deep  in  the  current,  which 
threatened  every  second  as  the  waters  increased 
to  sweep  them  into  the  deep  channel  below.  They 
were  absolutely  helpless.  Twenty-four  able 
bodied  men  dressed  for  everything  and  anything 
were  lined  up  on  the  shore  but  eighty  feet  away. 
No  one  knew  what  to  do,  but  something  must  be 
done  and  that  right  quickly.  Nick  was  on  the 
job  and  no  comrade  would  go  down  until  he 
had  done  his  best  to  save  him. 

There  was  no  time  for  mathematical  calcula 
tions,  Nick  seized  his  peavey,  mounted  a  small 
peeled  pine,  shoved  off  into  the  river  and  made 
straight  as  an  arrow  for  the  doomed  rivermen. 
Before  he  reached  them  one  was  swept  like  a 
wisp  of  hay  over  the  bar  into  the  dark  waters 
below.  Summoning  up  his  almost  superhuman 
strength,  he  reached  the  bar  and  called  for  the 
struggling  man  to  grasp  the  log  and  cling  on  for 
dear  life.  To  reach  the  shore  was  a  demon  task, 
the  mad  waters  pressed  powerfully  against  the 
slippery  log;  but  with  arms  of  iron  he  sunk  his 
peavey  to  the  bottom  of  the  stream,  and  while 
the  floundering  man  clung  to  the  twisting,  toss 
ing  log,  by  a  succession  of  ponderous  strokes 

72 


he  reached  the  bank.  The  riverman  was  rescued. 
When  the  daring  feat  was  done  and  the  listless 
men  again  breathed  a  long  breath,  they  discov 
ered  that  Jimmie  Flynn  had  sunk  to  rise  no 
more,  but  the  Black  Wolf  had  been  saved  from 
a  watery  grave. 

Not  a  single  word  of  thanks  ever  came  from 
the  Wolf  to  Nick  for  this  heroic  deed.  And  no 
one  ever  learned  that  the  Wolf  ever  referred  to 
it  in  any  manner. 

Shall  we  exonerate  Nick?  When  we  shall 
have  finished  the  tragedy,  you,  my  fond  reader, 
may  do  as  you  choose. 

During  all  the  forced  associations  and  busi 
ness  conversations  that  passed  between  the  Wolf 
and  Nick  neither  of  them  ever  mentioned  a  word 
about  the  Nun. 

The  latter  part  of  the  drive  extreme  bitter 
ness  sprung  up  between  the  two  rivals.  The 
Wolf  gave  Nick  his  time  and  informed  him  he 
was  not  wanted  on  the  drive;  but  Nick  refused 
to  quit  work  and  continued  to  lead  his  six  burly, 
willing  fellows  to  the  beach  as  though  nothing 
had  happened. 

After  several  days  of  horsing  one  another, 
73 


Nick  determined  to  have  it  out  with  the  big 
bruiser  of  a  boss — kill  or  cure.  After  supper, 
late  in  August,  Nick  went  directly  to  the  tent 
occupied  by  the  Wolf.  Fortunately  they  had  an 
opportunity  of  coming  to  an  understanding  with 
out  any  interruptions. 

Men  of  their  metal  one  hundred  years  before 
fought  duels  to  the  finish  with  pistols  or  swords. 
Ranchmen,  cowboys  and  sourdoughs  would  have 
shot  it  out  regardless  of  circumstances.  South 
erners  would  have  settled  it  with  dirks  and 
bowies.  College  chums  or  common  lovers  would 
no  doubt  have  settled  it  that  very  hour;  but  these 
two  men  resorted  to  braver,  cooler  and  a  manlier 
course.  They  agreed  to  fight  it  out  with  bare 
fists,  with  the  understanding  that  there  was  to 
be  no  kicking  or  biting,  nor  any  illicit  means 
resorted  to  whatever.  The  time  they  deliberately 
had  chosen  was  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  on 
the  last  day  of  the  drive.  This  time  was  decided 
upon  that  they  would  not  infringe  on  the  firm 
that  employed  them  and  paid  them  for  labor, 
not  for  fighting.  It  was  further  agreed  that  Nick 
and  his  six  men  continue  as  they  had  been  doing 
and  that  they  were  to  receive  full  time  for  the 

74 


days  which  had  elapsed  since  the  boss  had 
ceased  to  mark  down  days  to  their  credit. 

The  whole  community  for  miles  around  inci 
dentally  learned  what  was  going  to  take  place 
when  the  drive  was  up.  The  opinions  expressed 
as  to  which  one  would  conquer,  about  two  to  one 
favored  the  Wolf.  The  few  who  favored  Nick 
did  it  only  as  they  judged  his  endurance  and 
general  tactics  from  a  personal  experience  with 
the  apt  and  able  fellow.  It  need  scarcely  be  men 
tioned  that  this  was  a  much  talked  of  affair.  It 
created  as  much  sensation  as  the  Centennial 
Exhibition  which  had  recently  taken  place.  It 
aroused  and  intensified  the  hot  bloods  about  as 
much  as  did  the  battle  of  Heenan  and  Sayers. 
Excitement  ran  high  throughout  the  whole  valley 
watered  by  the  Big  Muskegon  and  her  many 
noted  tributaries. 

The  day  came  for  the  big  battle.  The  two 
widely  known  and  universally  admired  river 
masters  were  to  measure  their  strength,  skill, 
endurance  and  valor.  The  drive  had  been  fin 
ished  shortly  after  noon;  and  the  mossbacks  were 
pouring  down  the  valley  towards  the  tents  of  the 
rivermen  to  see  the  tiger-toss.  From  the  upper 

75 


and  lower  beats  came  the  lads  in  squads.  From 
the  near  by  towns  and  small  cities  many  had 
flocked  hither  to  witness  the  battle. 

The  two  actors  in  this  backwoods  drama  had 
laid  around  all  the  afternoon.  At  five  o'clock 
Nick  arose  and  began  to  dress  for  the  fight  He 
wore  a  black  sateen  shirt  with  the  sleeves  rolled 
up  above  his  elbows,  showing  his  red  woolen  un 
dershirt  He  donned  his  favorite  orange  macki- 
naws  and  his  light  hen-shin  shoes  and  wrapped 
his  green  sash  round  and  round  his  waist  to 
show  his  colors,  as  he  expressed  it 

The  Wolf  shaved  clean  and  donned  his 
slagged  gray  trousers  and  his  "alligator"  shoes; 
he  wore  a  brown  wool  shirt  cropped  at  the  elbows 
and  loose  in  front  The  ring  and  watch  he 
always  had  on  his  person  he  handed  to  the 
cook,  saying:  "If  I  get  killed,  never  show  that 
watch  to  the  flannel-mouthed  Irishman." 

The  hour  of  six  was  at  hand,  the  two  big 
giants,  attended  by  their  referees,  took  their 
places  calmly  as  you  please.  They  faced  each 
other  unflinchingly  and  every  eager  spectator 
saw  at  once  there  was  no  yellow  streaks  in  these 
men.  There  was  considerable  excitement  run- 

76 


ning  wild  in  the  disorderly  crowd;  that  was  self- 
governed,  not  an  officer  of  the  law  was  present. 
Time  was  called  and  both  of  the  pugilists  squared 
for  the  offensive — suddenly  the  attention  of 
everybody  was  attracted  in  another  direction,  a 
deadening  lull  smote  the  crowd;  without  warn 
ing  a  big,  handsome  gentleman  sprang  into  the 
ring.  It  was  Neil  Beaten,  the  "Walking  Boss." 

"Hold  men,  don't  fight!"  cried  the  princely 
foreman. 

The  men  dropped  their  dukes,  knowing  the 
game  was  up,  and  over  one  thousand  disappoint 
ed  spectators  began  to  hiss.  Suddenly  over  one 
hundred  able-bodied  rivermen  sailed  into  that 
insulting  crowd,  that  had  dared  to  hiss  Neil 
Beaten,  the  walking  boss  of  the  Big  Muskegon. 
A  big  burly  jack  grabbed  a  jam-pike  and  ap 
pointed  himself  captain,  surrounded  the  crowd 
with  his  bullies  and  exclaimed,  "Neil  Beaten 
fights  and  allows  fighting  when  he  chooses,  but 
when  he  calls  a  halt,  d — n  the  bunch  of  pikers 
who  dare  hiss,  and  now,"  he  continued,  "every 
mother's  son  uv  ye  cheer  Neil  or  down  goes  your 
shanty." 

The  swaying  crowd  knew  they  were  in  for  an 
77 


apology,  and  that  if  they  refused  fo  do  as  they 
had  been  commanded  they  would  be  battered 
from  every  side,  and  they  knew  in  those  parts 
from  past  experience  what  it  meant  to  get  into 
a  free-for-all;  so  according  to  request  the  woods 
and  valleys  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  loud 
applause  which  was  given  from  a  thousand 
throats  for  Neil  Beaten,  the  Walking  Boss. 

Scarcely  had  these  hurrahs  died  away  over 
the  ridges  and  up  the  sandy  valleys  when  Neil, 
the  Old  Viking  of  those  parts,  yelled: 

"Attention!" 

Everybody  listened  to  hear  what  he  had  to 
say. 

"Lads  and  ladies,"  he  began,  "it  is  supper 
time." 

And  they  knew  it  well,  for  the  moment  he  had 
spoken  it  as  sweet  a  tune  as  was  ever  heard  from 
the  big  tin  dinner  horn  was  played  to  that  crowd 
who  had  gathered  from  far  and  wide. 

"Friends,"  continued  Neil,  after  the  horn 
ceased,  "It's  not  a  fight,  but  a  feast;  it's  my  treat, 
fall  in  line." 

And  then  farmers,  rivermen,  shingle  weavers, 
lumbermen,  tanbark  peelers,  tie  makers,  pole 

78 


peelers,  lath  sawyers,  lumber  mill  men,  mer 
chants,  school  teachers  and  sports  fell  to  the 
greatest  feast  ever  celebrated  in  the  state. 

Neil  had  planned  the  occasion  and  only  the 
cook  was  put  wise  to  the  scheme.  This  was  a 
splendid  side  track  to  the  big  affair  which  could 
only  have  decreased  the  pedigree  of  the  river- 
men,  who  were  ordinarily  much  superior  to  such 
affairs. 

After  this  the  crew  broke  camp.  The  Wolf 
went  back  to  Vassar,  and  Nick  went  to  his 
brother  Max,  who  was  employed  on  the  Board- 
man  River. 


79 


CHAPTER  V. 

IICK  and  Max  decided  to  saw  together 
as  they  did  at  Norway  Haul.  The  tim 
ber  was  scattering  and  they  had  to 
make  their  best  licks  in  order  to  keep 
the  reputation  they  had  gained  at  such  a  tre 
mendous  cost. 

Nate  Andrews,  a  genuine  hero  of  the  forest, 
wearing  long  thick  whiskers  sweeping  his  broad 
breast,  drove  the  big  red  oxen  and  skidded  the 
entire  winter  for  the  two  brothers. 

Christmas  week  came  and  Nick  decided  to  re 
main  in  camp.  He  spent  the  time  practically 
alone;  cooked  his  own  food,  cut  his  wood,  and 
amused  himself  as  best  he  could  while  the  sixty 
lads  had  the  time  of  their  lives. 

Max  went  to  town,  spent  one  hundred  and 
forty-eight  dollars;  when  he  returned  after  New 
Year's  all  he  had  to  show  for  his  investment  was 
a  pair  of  socks,  a  haircut  and  a  black  eye. 

The  following  spring  they  drove   the  Board- 
80 


man  from  the  Forks,  or  the  Twin-Bridges,  to  the 
Boardman  Lake.  On  this  drive  they  met  the 
famous  character  commonly  known  as  the  Poet 
of  the  Pines,  and  on  this  drive  the  poet  com 
posed  the  widely  known  and  much  loved  song 
entitled,  "The  Boardman  River  Boys.'*  After 
they  had  ridden  down  the  pretty  river  and  were 
camped  at  its  mouth  the  song  was  made  popular 
by  daily  singing,  while  crowds  of  men  and 
women  visited  the  rivermen  as  they  halted  on 
the  drive.  Many  will  recall  the  sentiment  it  ex 
pressed  by  the  following  lines: 
"Now  we're  at  the  lake,  boys,  ragged  as  you 

please, 

Jolly  as  the  sons  of  wealth,  sporting  at  their  ease; 
Many  a  raging  river  we  have  drove  throughout 

this  land, 
But  now  we're  at  the  Boardman,  with  our  peavey 

in  our  hand." 

On  this  drive  they  shared  the  comradeship  of 
the  far-famed  Jack  Hagedy,  the  unfortunate  lover 
of  the  maid  from  Flat  River,  known  as  "The  Girl 
with  Auburn  Hair." 

The  next  winter  the  brothers  sawed  together 
as  they  had  for  fourteen  successive  seasons.  Max 

81 


was  yearly  growing  away  from  Nick,  and  as  they 
disagreed  with  each  other  their  work  became 
more  difficult.  Nothing  is  possible  at  its  best 
unless  harmony  prevails;  and  these  walling  and 
skilled  woodsmen  could  not  do  their  wrork  with 
any  degree  of  satisfaction  chewing  the  rag  about 
minor  details.  Max  would  quarrel,  brow-beat 
and  booze — all  these  actions  disgusted  Nick. 

One  day  as  they  were  sawing,  Max  yelled 
across  the  log,  "Let's  quit  sawing  together,  you 
say  you  are  losing  a  pound  a  day.'* 

The  witty  Nick  answered,  "Well,  suppose  I 
am,  you  say  you  are  gaining  a  pound,  and  it's 
all  in  the  family,  let's  stick  together." 

That  night  while  walking  home  from  work 
Max  asked  Nick: 

"Why  don't  you  buy  some  rags — or  are  you 
sending  all  your  swag  to  that  kid  at  the  hospital; 
you're  ragged  as  a  bum-stew,  you  patch  your 
pants,  face  your  mittens,  darn  your  old  socks — 
the  next  thing  I  know  you'll  be  a  beggar;  you 
never  lay  off  and  go  outside,  never  buy  a  fellow 
a  bootleg  and  you  muck  like  a  slave."  There  was 
a  twang  to  his  syllables  that  indicated  disgust. 

Nick  looked  Max  in  the  face  and  said:  "I 
82 


feim  not  sending  my  coin  to  that  kid,  as  you  call 
her,  but  I  am  making  payments  on  my  pine." 

"Your  pine,  what  pine?" 

"The  clear  section  I  bought  five  years  ago  out 
•of  Chase,  it's  a  good  investment-,  it's  within  two 
miles  of  the  switch  of  the  P.  M.  R.  R.  I  made  the 
deal  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  the  last  cent 
is  paid  and  the  deed  is  on  the  way." 

"Gee,  your  smooth — aye?" 

"You  will  think  so  when  I  rake  in  a  cool  hun 
dred  thousand  for  it." 

"Bah,"  snarled  Max,  "I'd  rather  trust  my 
money  in  the  bank,  than  let  rich  lords  play  with 
a  poor  fool's  cash." 

"Yes,  the  saloon  keepers  bank,"  said  Nick. 

"Oh,  don't  get  chesty,  I  can  shoot  it  in  as  I 
choose." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  but  had  you  have  heard  what 
I  heard  the  other  day  I  guess  you  would  change 
banks — the  rusty  proprietor  of  Hank's  place, 
lately  known  as  first  chance  on  one  side  of  the 
sign  board,  and  last  chance  on  the  other  side, 
was  riding  out  in  his  new  forty  dollar  cutter  and 
as  he  passed  the  lumber  boys  at  work,  he  would 
say  to  his  friend  in  the  cutter: 

83 


"D'ye  see  that  d — n  fool,  he's  working  fur 
me." 

And  then,  with  a  cynical  grin,  he  snapped 
out:  "Yes,  every  man  who  rolls  logs,  files  saws, 
holds  the  ribbons,  swamps  roads,  drives  the  river 
in  all  this  region  is  working  fur  me." 

"How  is   that?"   inquired   his  companion. 

"You  see,"  he  added,  "I  run  a  gin  mill  down 
at  Traverse,  I  cash  the  lads'  checks  free  and  then 
to  'ciprocate  they  booze  it  all  in  my  joint — 
it's  all  right,  ain't  it?" 

"How  do  you  like  to  work  for  the  last  chance 
or  the  first  chance  dive,  Max?"  hotly  asked  Nick. 

Max  was  mad  as  a  hornet  and  shot  up  to 
camp  ahead  and  it  was  several  days  before  he 
would  exchange  words  with  his  brother. 

The  custom  has  always  been  for  the  lumber 
lads  to  change  camps  on  an  average  of  once 
every  two  seasons.  And  these  two  we  are  fol 
lowing,  after  several  years  on  the  Boardman, 
determined  to  pack  their  grain  sacks  and  steer 
for  deeper  water  and  taller  timber,  which  they 
found  near  the  Dead-Stream.  There  was  one 
hundred  and  forty  fair  fellows  in  Shaffer's 
camps,  and  a  gallant  pack  of  workmen;  many 

84 


of  the  ablest  experts  the  age  had  produced. 

Rancour,  the  premier  of  cruisers,  se-gashey- 
ated  as  general  transmogerator  in  telling  the  for 
tunes  of  the  timber.  He  knew  the  age  and 
descent  of  any  tree  off-hand.  If  he  was  a  bit 
precise  he  could  tell  you  how  many  toothpicks 
it  would  make,  hegory. 

Old  Dick,  as  he  was  known,  claimed  to  be  the 
author  of  the  "Swamper's  Guide,"  a  book  that 
never  existed.  He  clung  to  this  camp  because  it 
was  the  only  place  they  would  allow  smoking 
while  he  swamped. 

In  the  Autumn  when  Dick  began  his  winter's 
work  the  lads  made  him  tell  a  story,  and  he 
related  the  following: 

"I  knew  a  man  in  Canada  that  would  stand 
ten  feet  from  ye,  and  strike  ye  'tween  the  eyes 
with  both  heels,  and  swat  you  in  the  gob  with 
his  fists  at  the  same  time;  and  now  ye  bitter  sit 
back  ur  I'll  sick  'im  at  ye." 

Dick  was  an  inveterate  smoker.  As  he  grew 
older  tobacco  was  not  stout  enough  "fur  'im," 
as  he  expressed  it,  and  true  to  Irish  fashion,  he 
mixed  in  a  sip  of  tea.  The  last  job  at  night  for 
one  of  the  younger  members  of  that  family  of 

85 


twelve  boys  and  half  as  many  girls  was  to  fill 
from  heel  to  top  that  generous  calabash,  which 
held  about  a  pint,  and  then  mix  in  a  lettle  ta — . 

George  Campbelle,  a  red-headed  Hoosier,  was 
Cock  o*  the  Walk  in  these  parts,  and  believe  me 
it  took  more  than  hot  air  to  maintain  his  much- 
coveted  position. 

Lary  Clary  was  boss.  It  was  six  miles  to  the 
river  from  where  they  cut  and  slashed  the  noble 
timber.  Great  windrows  were  mown  daily  in 
that  virgin  forest,  and  as  one  looked  at  those 
windrows  from  a  distance  it  resembled  a  huge 
harvest  field;  the  logs  grouped  in  bunches  ready 
for  the  big  wheels  passed  for  bundles  dropped 
from  the  binders  of  those  prodigious  wizards  of 
the  woods. 

It  was  late  in  May  and  still  the  boss  ordered 
the  lads  to  the  timber  at  daybreak — he  was  long 
winded — it  took  many  hours  to  satisfy  him  that 
a  man  had  really  done  a  day's  work. 
"Spring  time  rolled   around,   business   began   to 

thrive, 

Three  hundred  able-bodied  men  were  wanted  on 
the  drive." 

And  now  on  the  West  Branch  there  flourished 
86 


the  three  noted  brothers  from  Barker  Creek. 
While  they  managed,  hired  and  fired,  fixed 
wages  and  laid  out  beats,  it  goes  without  saying 
that  nothing  ever  excelled  this  drive  known  as 
Ihe  "All  Star  Beat."  These  good-natured,  big- 
hearted  rivermen  gathered  about  them  fifty  of 
the  greatest  drivers  on  the  planet.  Andy  McFar- 
iand,  Black  Water  Jack,  Ol  Crothers,  Tom  Will 
iams,  Fred  Umlor,  Henry  Seaten,  Clate  Dowen, 
Dead  Stream  Dick,  Jack  Mallory,  Joe  Miller,  Pat 
Downey,  John  Buckle,  Charley  Shaver,  Emmitt 
Price,  Jimmy  Carr,  Wallie  Blue,  George  Weaver, 
Pat  Loup,  Billy  Hawkins,  Herb  Tyler,  Charley 
Pierce,  Fred  Hamilton,  Art  Davis  and  others 
chosen  from  hundreds  who  were  anxious  to  join 
the  memorable  company.  They  were  all  young 
and  in  their  prime,  happy  and  willing  to  risk 
anything  to  promote  with  rapidity  and  skill  the 
gigantic  task  of  driving  the  round  stuff  to  the 
slaughter  house  in  far-away  Manistee. 

Here  they  had  some  rules  which  usually 
worked  with  some  degree  of  entertainment;  but 
I  will  make  mention  of  one  case  in  particular 
which  will  serve  as  an  interesting  reminder  that 
even  the  best  of  us  gets  fooled.  The  rules  were 

87 


that  every  newcomer  to  this  job  had  to,  on  the 
first  night,  sing  a  song,  tell  a  story,  treat  the 
crowd  or  go  over  the  beam. 

The  beam  was  about  fifteen  feet  high  and  in 
order  to  go  over  the  beam  the  victim  had  to  be 
tossed  over  by  ten  strong  men  out  of  a  blanket. 

Silver  Jack,  from  Saginaw,  chanced  that  way, 
sought  employment  and  on  the  first  evening  the 
scurvy  secretary  read  him  the  rules.  He  hesi 
tated  a  moment  and  then  very  firmly  declared 
he  would  not  comply  with  them. 

"Very  well,"  said  Umlor,  "get  the  blanket, 
over  the  beam  he  goes." 

Ten  big,  burly  fellows  lined  up,  all  hands 
circled  the  blanket  and  Kinney  made  for  the 
newcomer,  who  quietly  backed  into  a  corner, 
whipped  out  a  handsome  Smith  &  Wesson  and 
sent  six  bullets  to  the  farther  end  of  the  shanty 
in  less  than  that  many  seconds,  and  every  ball 
drove  nails. 

"Now,"  said  the  silver  champion,  "if  you  want 
any  more  of  this  whiskey,"  as  he  pulled  out  a 
second  gun,  "just  bring  on  your  blanket." 

There  was  silence  for  a  space  of  half  an 
hour,  no  one  noticed  who  put  the  blanket  away, 

88 


neither  did  anybody  see  Silver  Jack  go  over  the 
beam. 

The  following  winter  in  camp  on  the  Big  Can- 
won  Creek  near  Jam  too  many  accidents  oc 
curred.  Haywire  Pete  was  asked  for  an  explana 
tion  of  these  calamities  and  made  the  following 
reply: 

"You  see,  these  fellows  come  here  from  the 
south  with  hayseed  in  their  hair,  mud  on  their 
boots  and  a  husking  peg  in  their  pockets,  then 
set  themselves  up  for  woodsmen;  they  had  better 
go  peddle  buttermilk  in  a  leaky  boot!" 

Haywire  Pete  had  a  farm  on  the  Burndown 
and  had  to  go  mighty  saving  to  make  his  pay 
ments.  He  never  wore  any  socks;  as  a  substitute 
he  purchased  a  yard  of  outing  flannel,  cut  it  in 
two  pieces  and  put  his  delicate  number  ten  in 
the  center  of  each  rag,  wrapped  up  the  corners 
around  his  ankle  and  pulled  on  his  boot.  When 
holes  were  worn  where  his  toes  and  heels  were 
he  would  slip  the  cloth  sideways  to  a  sound  part 
and  again  wear  it  for  weeks.  By  this  means  he 
would  get  as  much  wear  out  of  that  cloth  as  he 
would  in  ten  pairs  of  socks. 

To  this  camp  came  that  vagabond,  Chicago 
89 


Dan.  One  look  at  his  rosy  face  would  chase 
trade  from  a  glue  factory.  He  was  rusty  with 
tobacco  juice  and  all  the  duds  he  wore  wouldn't 
pad  a  crutch.  He  stalked  into  the  cook  shanty 
while  the  lads  were  at  dinner  and  in  his  squeaky 
voice  piped  out: 

"Cook,  do  ye  see  any  haywire  hitched  to  me?" 

"No,"  said  the  cook,  "why?" 

"Well,"  said  Dan,  "them  fellers  over  there 
said  I  had  gone  haywire." 

He  tackled  Clark  for  a  job. 

"What  can  you  do?"  said  Clark. 

"I  can  drink  whiskey  every  rosy  time  I  get 
it,  you  A.  P.  A.,  you,"  said  Dan  in  his  womanish 
tones. 

"Can  you  drive  logs,  Dan?"  asked  the  good- 
natured  Clark. 

"Can  I,"  he  answered,  as  he  tightened  up  the 
old  suspender  he  wore  for  a  sash,  turned  up  his 
coat  collar  and  pulled  down  his  ragged  hat,  "I 
gist  came  from  the  Little  Betsey  where  the  lads 
float  stones  down  the  swift  currents.  ME,"  he 
muttered,  "I  can  drive  logs  where  the  water  runs 
so  swift  that  you  wouldn't  dare  throw  a  stone 
in — Clark,  I  can  niver  forgive  ye,  ye  hav  insulted 

90 


me;  I  will  never  speak  to  ye  again  in  public,  our 
friendship  shall  cease;  I'm  too  rosy  for  ye — kin 
I  heve  some  dinner?" 

This  was  a  fair  sample  of  all  his  conversa 
tion.  He  tramped  from  town  to  town  and  was 
moved  from  public  place  to  public  place,  was 
witty,  wise  and  one  of  the  greatest  humorists 
that  ever  lived. 

While  on  the  Dead-Stream  Old  Bob  applied 
for  employment.  He  wore  a  straw  hat  gone  up 
to  seed;  it  was  in  November,  the  snow  was  about 
a  foot  deep,  but  in  spite  of  it  Bob  wore  on  one 
foot  an  old  boot  and  on  the  other  a  woman's 
buttoned  shoe.  He  cut  three  circles  round  the 
boss,  stopped  and  straightened  up,  looked  him 
squarely  in  the  peepers  and  said: 

"Can  ye  use  me?" 

"What  the  h— 1  can  you  do?" 

"I  genely  cook,"  he  answered,  "but  I  gist  as 
sun  swing  an  ax  this  winter." 

"You'll  have  to  hit  the  pawnshop,  pal,"  an 
swered  the  boss,  "nuthin'  doin'  here  fur  ye." 

And  just  as  happy  as  though  he  had  found 
employment  he  took  his  back  track  for  Fletchers 
Postoffice. 

91 


These  haunts  was  the  home  of  (he  Northern 
Michigan  Giant.  He  weighed  three  hundred  and 
sixty  pounds,  could  punish  whiskey  as  rapidly 
as  any  living  man.  Many  times  he  consumed 
two  gallons  of  pure  rye  whiskey  daily.  On  one 
occasion  he  bought  a  bushel  bag  full  of  raw 
peanuts,  of  Bailey,  and  a  pail  of  candy  from  E. 
C.  Brower,  hit  the  plank  trail  of  the  village  and 
treated  every  man,  woman  and  child  he  met.  He 
went  to  the  metropolis  and  got  completely 
sozzled,  sat  down  in  the  middle  of  the  busiest 
street  and  played  marbles  with  the  boys.  For 
this  attractive  conduct  the  police  arrested  him; 
he  would  not  walk  to  jail,  he  was  too  heavy  to 
carry,  they  had  no  patrol  wagon  and  so  they  had 
to  let  him  go.  He  had  a  great  fever  sore  on  his 
shin,  it  took  something  less  than  a  bolt  of  fac 
tory  cloth  to  wrap  it  up.  Sometimes  on  his  long 
drinking  bouts  the  rag  would  come  loose  and 
drag  along  behind  him,  and  often  would  the 
street  urchins  run  and  jump  on  this  trailing 
bandage  just  to  plague  the  harmless  lumberman. 
His  lung  power  was  equal  to  thunder,  his  epi 
gram  was  when  he  struck  town,  "Here  comes  the 
Northern  Michigan  Giant,  pull  in  your  stove 

92 


pipes,  it's  going  to  rain." 

Everybody  knew  when  he  came  and  when  he 
departed.  You  can  imagine  his  enormous  size, 
for  he  yoked  himself  up  to  a  lone  ox  to  skid  logs 
}>y  the  thousand.  The  snow  was  deep  and  had  a 
thick  crust,  being  the  early  part  of  March.  He 
\vould  shovel  one  track  for  the  ox  and  could, 
with  his  big  feet,  which  required  rubbers  almost 
as  large  as  Yukon  snowshoes,  walk  on  the  crust 
and  pull  his  end  of  the  log.  With  this  dumb 
partner  the  peerless  lumberman  completed  the 
job. 

One  of  the  most  peculiar  misunderstandings 
that  ever  happened  in  all  these  parts  was  related 
by  Lonesome  Lee,  later  of  Wyoming,  internation 
ally  known  as  "The  Mountaineer  Musician " 

A  certain  ox-teamster  was  driving  to  Hart's 
mill,  while  on  his  way  he  met  a  man  a-foot.  The 
stranger  said  to  the  teamster,  "Can  you  tell  me 
the  way  to  Hart's  mill?"  The  stranger  talked 
through  his  nose  very  badly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  ox-teamster,  "you 
go  right  straight  do\vn" — here  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  man  a-foot,  who  said: 

"Now,  d — n  you,  don't  you  mock  me,  if  ye 
93 


do  I'll  punch  your  head  off." 

The  ox-teamster  jumped  off  the  wagon  and 
said,  "I  never  allow  anybody  to  swear  at  me." 

They  stripped  their  coats  and  went  at  it.  Nate 
Andrews  happened  along,  he  parted  them  and 
they  were  a  sick  lot,  eyes  swoolen  almost  shut, 
lips  bruised  and  cut,  faces  skinned,  hair  matted 
with  blood  and  generally  in  bad.  After  they  had 
been  separated  and  the  cause  was  ascertained 
for  which  they  fought  each  discovered  that  both 
talked  through  his  nose  naturally  and  neither 
had  mocked  the  other.  Lonesome  Lee  said  you 
could  have  bought  them  for  a  cent. 


94 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JHE  heart  of  the  pinery  was  Michigan, 
and  the  Manistee  was  the  great  artery. 
No  river  in  any  country  ever  ran 
through  a  more  evenly  timbered  val 
ley  than  this  much  employed  and  widely  known 
stream.  From  the  source,  which  was  about  thirty 
miles  east  and  south  of  Petoskey,  to  its  mouth, 
which  was  at  the  fair  city  of  Manistee,  it  was 
six  hundred  miles  by  hook  and  crook,  and  only 
two  hundred  the  way  the  crow  flies.  This  water 
way  was  reinforced  with  many  charming  tribu 
taries,  whose  confluences  added  to  the  speed 
and  value  of  the  river.  Upon  this  famous  water 
course  and  her  many  tributaries  floated  the  for 
tunes  of  many  noted  and  honorable  lumber 
kings. 

Dempsey,  Sands,  Filer,  Peters,  Hannah,  Lay, 
Noble,  Blodgett,  Fox,  Dexter,  Chick,  Hodges, 
Glitten,  Mitchell,  Cobb,  Diggan,  Ward,  Blissby, 
Hagadorn,  Chickering,  Clark,  King,  Comstock, 

95 


Harding,  Buckley,  Duglass,  Ruggles,  Knoll,  Moores, 
Dandier,  Hewett,  Read,  Mathews,  Palmer,  Fuller, 
Nickols,  Chase,  Winchester,  Hovy,  Noud  and 
others  equally  as  honorable  and  efficient  owned 
and  managed  the  lumbering  in  the  greatest  belt 
that  has  ever  yet  been  harvested. 

The  leading  walking  bosses  were  Nick  Dowen, 
Bob  Edmons,  Charles  Haywood,  John  Snushall, 
Pete  Moorehead,  Bill  Kidder  and  Hank  Louks. 
Of  course  there  were  others,  but  these  are  those 
best  know^n  and  who  participated  particularly  in 
the  valley  of  the  Manistee. 

The  leading  foremen  were  Thurston,  Bloom, 
Tripp,  White,  Clary,  Scobey,  Kelly,  Rickmeyer, 
Frazier,  Blue,  Strahan,  Moran  and  others. 

To  call  the  roll  of  the  mighty  men  engaged 
in  these  parts  would  be  very  long  indeed.  It 
took  many  minds  to  clear  the  river  in  this  region, 
which  had  long  been  dammed  by  the  cunning 
beavers,  and  to  build  roads  through  the  tangled 
forests  which  would  carry  these  huge  trees  from 
the  lost  hills  and  lonely  fastnesses,  where  they 
could  be  fitted  for  the  building  of  many  man 
sions  which  now  so  beautifully  adorn  our  great 
commonwealth. 

96 


Time  fails  and  space  forbids  the  telling  of 
incidents,  accidents  and  circumstances,  the  gen 
erosity  and  deeds  of  daring;  we  can  only  here 
and  there  pick  a  flower  of  friendship  as  we 
march  to  the  apex  of  the  tale  which  centers 
around  Nick  of  the  Woods. 

Perhaps  never  before  and  never  again  will 
men  be  permitted  to  settle  such  a  valley  as  this 
watered  by  the  shining  Manistee.  The  entire  belt 
was  studded  with  white  pine  and  stalwart  Nor 
way;  the  gentle  hills  bore  upon  the  soft  shoulders 
earth's  fairest  harvest,  and  that  had  not  been 
sown  by  man  but  planted  by  God  in  centuries 
past  and  gone.  The  soil  was  a  chocolate  loam, 
and  readily  produced  corn,  peas,  wheat,  beans, 
potatoes  and  fruits  in  abundance.  In  the  wild 
woods  were  various  species  of  game.  In  the 
rivers  and  brooks  were  grayling  and  dappled 
trout.  In  the  lakes,  and  they  were  many,  the 
fisherman  found  his  real  paradise — pike,  pickerel 
and  bass  were  easily  taken. 

Huckleberries  and  wintergreen  berries  cov 
ered  the  plains,  raspberries  and  blackberries 
grew  in  the  timber.  Plums  enriched  the  thickets 
and  beechnuts  were  plentiful  on  the  ridges.  One 

97 


hundred  and  forty  kinds  of  wild  flowers,  the 
sweetest  and  rarest  of  all  was  the  arbutus,  grew 
to  beautify  the  wilderness  and  the  waste  places. 

The  early  settlers  used  to  say  they  had  to  live 
on  squirrel  tracks  and  gopher  holes,  potatoes 
and  slippery  elm  gravy,  with  soft  maple  buds 
and  imagination  for  a  dessert  but  this  wras  not 
necessary  after  they  had  planted  the  first  crop. 
Not  for  crops  is  this  effort  put  forth,  but  for  the 
men  that  country  produced — and  manhood  is  the 
fairest  and  greatest  of  all  earthly  product. 

In  October  the  snow  began  to  fall.  This  wras 
the  steady  warrant  of  success.  Nothing  was  pos 
sible  by  way  of  logging  unless  they  had  snow, 
a  proper  amount  and  in  due  time. 

The  white  feathery  flakes  fell  often  in  the 
night  without  even  a  wind  for  a  warning.  Where 
the  men  worked  in  the  dry  leaves  the  night  be 
fore,  perhaps  the  following  day  when  they  re 
turned  three  feet  of  snow  would  divide  them 
from  the  toil  of  yesterday.  If  the  ground  did  not 
freeze  before  the  snow  fell,  then  it  would  not 
freeze  all  winter.  The  early  settlers  would  leave 
their  potatoes  in  the  hill  till  spring  as  they  kept 
better  than  they  did  in  the  pit. 

98 


The  lumbermen  could  find  dirt  whenever 
they  wanted  it  to  draw  the  frost  from  the  iron 
wedges  when  they  wished  to  throw  a  tree  in  a 
special  way. 

The  mossbacks  and  lumbermen  alike  were 
always  prepared  for  that  happy  event,  the  fall 
ing  of  the  first  snow.  A  great  pile  of  maple 
I  lock  wood  was  cut  and  hauled,  a  shed  filled 
with  linden  and  dry  pine  spalts  had  been  pre 
pared.  The  root  cellar  was  filled  with  potatoes, 
carrots  and  turnips;  the  house  stuffed  with 
edibles,  and  as  the  poet  of  the  pines  expressed: 
"Our  cellar  is  stuffed  with  cabage  and  fruits 

Such  as  onions,  squash  and  potatoes; 

Our  pantry  with  cream,  which  always  suits, 

And  sweet  pickles  made  out  of  tomatoes." 

They  had  no  dread  for  the  clouds  of  whirling 
snows,  the  flurries  of  those  incessant  storms 
which  lasted  sometimes  for  thirty  days,  scarcely 
ever  were  attended  with  any  regret  or  seldom 
stole  upon  these  busy  and  industrious  people  and 
found  them  unprepared. 

One  hundred  and  sixty  days  of  sleighing  with 
out  a  break  was  an  average  winter.  This  could 
be  increased  thirty  days  by  the  manipulation  of 

99 


the  road  sprinkler,  which  made  a  bed  of  ice  that 
svould  last  till  June. 

No  element  ever  came,  not  even  the  sunshine 
over  the  broad  acres  of  Dakota,  that  was  more 
welcomed  than  the  gentle  snow  of  the  north. 
The  logging  sleds  were  dug  out  and  the  prancing 
horses,  mettled  and  filled  with  ginger  because 
of  the  invigorating  air,  seasoned  with  snappy 
frost,  were  harnessed  and  hitched  to  these  con 
veyances  and  long  before  the  break  of  day  the 
whistling  teamsters,  sitting  astride  the  pecker, 
would  be  on  their  way  to  the  rollway,  which  was 
in  some  instances  but  a  mile  away,  and  on  other 
jobs  ten  times  that  distance.  Woe-be- tide  the 
loader  if  he  did  not  balance  his  load,  for  if  the 
load  was  bunk  bound  on  the  way  to  the  river 
the  little  failing  usually  cost  him  his  job. 

Oxen  were  used  as  well  as  horses.  The  ox 
had  to  be  shod  when  used  on  the  roads.  The  shoe 
was  made  in  two  parts  to  fit  the  split  hoof.  Oxen 
would  not  stand  to  be  shod  like  horses  and  so 
they  had  to  be  swrung  up  in  the  air,  feet  up  and 
back  dowrn,  in  order  to  get  the  shoes  on. 

The  sleighs  were  constructed  out  of  elm  and 
oak  and  the  runners  were  shod  with  a  thick  piece 

100 


of  steel  The  bunks  were  from  eight  to  eleven 
feet  long  and  by  decking  the  logs  to  a  peak  from 
fitfeen  hundred  to  five  thousand  feet  of  logs 
could  be  handled  on  a  single  load. 

What  the  prairie  west  was  to  the  Sioux,  and 
Sutters  mill  race  to  the  prospector,  such  was  this 
belt  to  the  lumbermen. 

And  after  a  survey  of  all  the  region,  the  tim 
ber,  water  and  the  people,  Nick  of  the  Woods 
determined  to  end  his  camp  life  in  this  valley. 

As  he  began,  he  still  continued,  industrious 
and  unselfish  in  friendly  relations  with  both  God 
and  man.  Max  had  been  a  great  trial  to  him,  in 
vain  Nick  had  tried  to  induce  that  wayward 
brother  to  take  the  rich  treasures  offered  him 
by  Heaven,  and  line  his  pockets  with  silk  and 
his  purse  with  virgin  gold.  How  easily  he  could 
have  filled  the  silver  pitcher  of  opportunity  with 
those  rare  golden  apples  which  ripen  but  once 
during  man's  life  on  earth.  But  after  all  his 
kindness,  tactics  and  sacrifice  for  the  cleanliness 
of  his  brother's  character  and  that  they  might 
be  sons  honorable  indeed,  he  utterly  failed  and 
Max  forsook  not  only  his  counsel  but  separated 
from  Nick  forever.  Nick  never  gave  up  and  long 

101 


years  after  Max  would  no  longer  pay  any  atten 
tion  to  his  pleadings,  Nick  wrote  him  and  urged 
him  to  brace  up  and  return. 

Contemporaneous  with  the  lumber  camps 
there  grew  in  this  versatile  valley  a  string  of 
pretty  hamlets,  villages  and  cities,  which  em 
bellished  with  art's  fair  fingers  the  peaceful  vale 
watered  by  the  Manistee.  Ere  the  cities  began 
there  came  to  the  lumber  lands  the  pioneers,  who 
came  to  be  the  tillers  of  the  soil.  They  were  the 
primitive  settlers  and  by  them  school  houses, 
churches  and  grange  halls,  with  other  public 
buildings,  were  erected  and  used.  Then  society 
began  to  change  slightly,  formality  began  to  grow 
more  popular;  instead  of  the  grove  of  graceful 
and  tossing  pine,  one  beheld  the  tasseled  corn, 
and  these  fields  of  cultivation  heralded  the  first 
note  of  the  passing  of  the  lumberman  forever. 

Among  the  pioneers  who  first  settled  in  these 
parts  were  such  sturdy  stock  as  the  Hodges, 
Pierces,  Barnums,  McCoreys,  Cuttings,  Loups, 
Finches,  Dutch  Pete,  Osterhout,  Forsythe,  Gill- 
more,  Dowens,  Battenfield,  Downeys,  Walker, 
Immens,  Sparlings,  Wall,  Umlors,  Cobbs,  Ban 
crofts,  King,  Van  Camps,  Beebe,  Marshall,  Coles, 

102 


Rices,  Potter,  Arthur,  Passage,  Hamilton,  Learns, 
Scott,  Baker,  Martin,  Clark,  Fuller,  Fleet,  Millers, 
Call,  Andrews,  O'Brien,  Me  Ketchnie,  Castell,  Kel 
logg,  Olds,  Eastcott,  and  two  hundred  other  fam 
ilies  highly  respectable  and  active  in  the  transi 
tion  period,  when  the  country  was  passing  from 
the  ax  of  the  lumberman  to  the  landside  of  the 
farmer.  Many  more  could  the  author  name  with 
very  pleasant  reminiscences,  but  sufice  it  to  state 
that  time  and  space  rather  than  memory  for 
bids  it. 

Society  in  the  beginning  of  the  farming  period 
was  informal  and  accidental.  In  no  stage  of  civi 
lization  has  that  artless  age  been  excelled. 

On  Saturday  nights  the  lumbermen  were  in 
variably  invited  to  all  the  dancing  parties,  which 
were  celebrated  either  in  a  rude  log  house  or 
on  the  threshing  floor  of  some  newly  constructed 
barn  To  these  periodical  events  invitations  were 
sent  to  all,  none  were  ever  slighted,  few  inhabited 
these  unpopulated  realms,  which  an  immoral 
character  forbid  their  welcome.  The  fiddle, 
banjo,  mouth  organ,  melodian  or  the  old  fash 
ioned  cottage  organ  were  the  musical  instru 
ments,  and  when  the  merrymakers  hit  upon  the 

103 


munny  musk,  devil's  dream  or  Virginia  cake 
walk  many  a  lumber  lad  and  jovial  mossback 
with  their  modest  rural  maidens  tripped  the  light 
fantastic  toe.  Dances  were  not  often,  only  occa 
sional,  and  those  who  attended  them  were  none 
the  worse  nor  were  not  maddened  by  the  event; 
dancing  jacks  and  female  maniacs  were  reserved 
for  another  age. 

At  the  dawn  of  civilization  appeared  on  the 
horizon  the  pioneer  preacher,  with  his  messages, 
of  heavenly  love.  Everybody  everywhere  revered 
the  forensic  and  beloved  man.  His  visits  were 
seldom,  his  presence  pleasing,  the  cabins,  camps 
and  sheltering  trees  were  his  chapels,  the  whole 
broad  valley  was  his  parish;  labor  was  his  de 
light,  for  he  was  to  find  rest  in  Heaven.  In  that 
big,  neglected  scope  few  were  the  beds  where 
grim  death  hovered  where  the  reverend  cham 
pion  did  not  stand,  offering  as  God's  greatest 
gift  to  all  the  human  race  the  immortality  of  the 
soul.  Few  were  the  funerals  of  either  settler  or 
lumberman,  mother,  son  or  daughter,  but  this 
servant  of  God  said  in  pious  reverence,  "Earth 
to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  and  dust  to  dust,"  as 
they  laid  the  loved  ones  down  to  sleep  till  the  call 

104 


of  the  Master.  Whenever  an  accident  occurred 
to  a  riverman  or  a  lumber  lad  the  good  man 
was  notified,  frequently  by  a  messenger  after  an 
all-night  walk  or  ride  through  deep  snow  or  in 
drenching  rains  or  tangled  wilderness  ways;  and 
invariably  at  the  bier  stood  the  ambassador  from 
the  King  of  Kings.  Sometimes  a  walk  of  fifty 
miles  for  the  preacher  before  he  could  officiate, 
but  to  him  it  mattered  very  little,  just  as  long  as 
God  gave  him  good  to  do. 

Whenever  called  upon  they  came  cheerfully 
and  gladly,  without  even  asking  or  caring  to 
whom  they  were  to  minister.  It  mattered  little 
if  they  were  Christians  or  not.  denominational 
relations  never  had  a  bit  of  influence  then, 
enough  for  the  minister  to  know  that  the  needy 
was  formed  and  fashioned  after  the  image  of 
Almighty  God.  Enough  to  know  that  they  were 
kindred  in  flesh.  Now  when  you  come  to  see 
the  word  album  where  the  actors  in  this  strange 
wild  drama  repose,  you  shall  see  the  grave- 
mounds  of  these  servants  of  God,  the  early 
heralds  of  the  Cross. 

There  was  Eldred,  the  mighty  prince  of  back 
woods  preachers.  When  he  preached  he  set  up 

105 


the  text  like  a  wedding  cake,  and  with  the  sword 
of  spirit  he  severed  it  in  a  thousand  parts,  gave 
a  piece  to  every  one  present,  and  they  went  to 
their  labor  and  their  homes  fed  and  watered 
with  the  food  and  drink  that  sustains  and 
strengthens  the  inner  man. 

Tommy  Bayington,  the  friend  of  lumbermen 
and  shingle  weavers,  pure  and  true  as  the  spirit 
that  charged  him  with  his  holy  calling,  never 
once  in  all  his  life  refused  to  pray  or  preach, 
sing  or  assist  at  any  time  in  any  place  to  one 
or  more,  no  matter  what  they  were,  who  they 
were  or  whatever  the  consequence. 

Elder  Kellogg,  the  just  and  merciful  man  of 
faith  and  lover  of  souls,  walked  and  sang, 
preached  and  labored,  always  doing  his  utmost 
to  lead  his  fellow  men  to  that  better  country 
wherefore  God  is  not  ashamed  to  be  called  God. 

Rev.  McKinley  stood  many  times  where  the 
scythe  of  death  had  mown  and  with  his  loving 
words,  seasoned  with  bitter  tears,  he  gave  the 
message  to  the  hopeless  age  and  the  thoughtless 
friends  that  long  ago  Jesus  gave  to  Mary  when 
her  brother  had  died. 

Then  there  was  Green,  Hewett,  Watkins,  Sav- 
106 


age,  Lake  and  others  who  wrought  righteousness, 
obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions, 
quenched  the  violence  of  fire,  escaped  the  edge 
of  the  sword  and  out  of  weakness  were  made 
strong. 


107 


CHAPTER  VII. 

!ICK  settled  permanently  in  a  well- 
ordered  camp  filled  with  a  new  set  of 
star  actors;  they  were  as  jolly  a  bunch 
of  fellows  as  ever  danced  to  the 
charming  music  of  a  dinner  horn.  Murphy,  Huff, 
Bryant,  Shine,  Furmand,  Wolf,  McLane,  Breed, 
Crego,  Wilson,  Weaver,  Lightheiser,  Bonnell, 
Mullen,  Games,  Barns,  Kinney,  Brady,  Bice, 
Buckle,  Lewis,  Anderson,  Barber,  and  many 
others  who  were  masters  in  their  own  profes 
sion.  It  took  timber  cruisers,  surveyors,  civil 
engineers,  bookkeepers,  roadmakers,  blacksmiths, 
carpenters,  saw  and  ax  experts,  peavey  and  log- 
chain  mechanics,  foremen,  cooks  and  many 
others  who  specialized  in  various  crafts.  The 
trees  fell  with  the  tops  in  the  river,  logging  was 
comparatively  easy  and  profits  were  very  satis 
factory. 

Before   the  lumbermen   had  blazed   the   trail 
into  this  charming  valley  where  the  Big  Cannon 

108 


joined  the  murmuring  river  in  its  southward 
journey,  came  a  pioneer  with  his  wife  and  eleven 
children.  They  had  erected  an  old  fashioned  log 
cabin  forty  feet  long  and  twenty-four  feet  in 
width.  It  stood  proudly  in  the  center  of  a  small 
grove  of  silver  poplars,  and  in  their  honor  was 
called  Silvershade. 

The  walls  were  logs  peeled  and  flattened, 
dovetailed  at  the  corners.  The  roof  rafters  were 
straight  cedar  poles,  the  roof  covering  was  pine 
shakes  split  with  mallet  and  fro  by  the  master 
of  the  house  and  his  eldest  sons  from  a  straight- 
grained  pine.  The  gables  were  boarded  up  with 
whip-sawed  lumber,  and  battened  with  edgings 
ripped  from  the  wider  boards.  The  floor  was 
basswood  puncheon  (planks  about  four  inches 
thick),  split  from  butt  logs  and  evened  up  with 
adz  and  broadax.  The  floor  sills  were  laid  with 
strong  oak  and  made  a  lasting  and  substantial 
base.  The  beams — or  more  commonly  known  as 
collar  beams,  were  peeled  tamarack,  not  liable 
to  checks  and  very  stiff.  It  was  necessary  to 
make  this  backwoods  dwelling  strong,  for  it 
stood  where  a  tree  might  blow  across  it  at  night, 
and  where  winter  after  winter  the  snow  was 

109 


piled  upon  it  by  the  Ion.  At  one  end  a  broad 
stairway  led  to  the  chamber,  which  was  cur 
tained  off  in  several  sleeping  apartments.  From 
the  chamber  floor,  which  was  thin  split  cedar, 
it  was  but  four  feet  to  the  eaves,  which  had  been 
corked  up  with  moss  from  the  black  ash  swale. 
In  the  winter  the  snow  would  blow  through  the 
shake  roof  and  sift  into  the  faces  of  the  drowsy 
inhabitants.  In  the  summer  time  how  consoling 
the  rain  drops  were  as  they  pattered  on  the  roof 
only  a  few  feet  above  their  heads. 

The  lower  part  of  the  dwelling  was  without 
partitions.  In  one  end  was  an  elevated  oven 
cook  stove;  and  in  this  end  of  the  room  they 
cooked  and  ate  their  meals.  In  the  opposite  end 
was  a  Jim  Beckwith  Round  Oak  heating  stove, 
which  swallowed  the  great  chunks  of  maple, 
beech  and  birch,  reddening  with  the  laughter  of 
flames  on  all  sides,  stimulated  by  that  gaseous 
material,  and  giving  in  token  of  attention  that 
cheerful  glow  and  indispensable  heat.  On  the 
walls  hung  several  oil  paintings,  portraits  of  dis 
tinguished  people  dressed  in  Pilgrim,  Puritan 
and  Colonial  garbs.  These  were  the  eminent  an 
cestors  of  the  inhabitants.  On  the  walls  in  the 

110 


end  of  the  room,  occupied  by  the  stove  and 
kitchen  utensils  hung  tools,  guns  and  other  ac 
cessories.  In  one  corner  the  coats  of  the  boys 
were  kept  and  in  the  other  the  capes,  bonnets 
and  outer  wear  of  the  women  was  neatly  hung. 
Then  in  different  places  on  wooden  pegs  driven 
in  auger  holes  were  suspended  several  musical 
instruments. 

The  inside  of  this  proud  old  mansion  was 
cleanly,  spacious  and  convenient.  It  was  cool  in 
the  summer  and  warm  in  the  winter.  The  fine 
flakes  of  snow  that  infrequently  blew  through  the 
shakes  into  the  rosy  faces  of  the  sweet  children, 
all  the  more  helped  them  to  enjoy  this  safe  and 
snug  retreat  from  the  elements.  Under  the  stair 
way  that  led  to  the  chamber  was  a  narrow  stair 
covered  with  a  trap  door.  This  door  was  raised 
partly  by  hand  and  partly  by  the  assistance  of  a 
weight  in  the  form  of  a  round  stone  tied  to  a  small 
rope  that  run  through  a  pulley  fastened  on  the 
wall.  This  stair  led  to  the  cellar  curbed  up  with 
split  cedar  logs.  The  steps  to  the  cellar  were  solid 
square  timbers.  The  floor  was  native  hard  pan, 
the  red  sub  soil  of  the  entire  country.  Butter,  milk 
and  vegetables  were  all  stored  in  this  cool  retreat, 

111 


which  was  as  safe  from  frost  as  it  was  from  heat. 

The  cabin  was  imposing  from  an  exterior  view 
as  well.  The  flattened  poles  which  served  as  roof- 
boards  extended  ten  feet  over  the  gable  that  stood 
toward  the  road;  this  end  was  shaked  over,  sup 
ported  by  two  tall  porch  posts  and  made  a  space 
ten  by  twenty-four  feet  for  a  front  stoop.  Two 
small  Norway  pines  were  scooped  out  and  placed 
at  the  eaves  for  a  rain  trough;  these  were  arranged 
so  the  water  would  run  toward  the  rear  of  the 
house  and  empty  into  a  great  pine  vat,  which  had 
been  chopped  out  of  a  huge  tree  which  was  five 
feet  in  diameter  and  twenty-four  feet  long.  This 
reservoir  held  fifty  barrels  of  water  and  served  as 
a  cistern.  The  walls  of  the  house  were  chinked 
up  with  quartered  pine  chinking,  the  cracks  mud 
died  with  white  marl  from  the  river  bed.  Every 
thing  was  finished  neatly  and  looked  substantial 
and  inviting. 

The  one  outside  door  was  home  made,  four  feet 
wide,  six  feet  six  inches  high  and  was  spiked  to 
gether  three  ply  thick  of  whip  sawed  ash.  This 
welcoming  and  generous  door  was  hung  on  dry 
ironwood  pins  set  in  two  great  rock-elm  sockets. 
A  huge  beech  latch  with  a  pin  extending  through 

112 


both  sides  of  the  door  was  the  only  means  of  fas 
tening  this  great  door.  Ash  when  sun-dried  and 
weather-beaten  looks  fully  as  well  to  one  who 
loves  timber  as  it  does  dressed,  filled,  stained, 
rubbed,  varnished  and  polished. 

In  all  this  construction  but  three  things  were 
considered,  and  these  were  durability,  comfort  and 
convenience.  Not  a  drop  of  paint,  varnish  or  gilt 
was  dreamed  of.  The  hardware  bill  would  not 
exceed  ten  dollars.  This  mansion  would  sell  in 
any  city  for  five  thousand  dollars. 

Life  was  enviable  in  these  selected  quarters, 
free  from  worldly  care,  social  criticism  and  politi 
cal  unrest.  For  wealth  they  never  thirsted,  for 
honor  no  hankering  and  for  luxury  not  the  slight 
est  emotion.  None  sought  for  fair  finery,  nor 
were  they  moved  by  that  mass  of  restless  millions 
who  vainly  seek  an  Eldorado,  never  to  reach  the 
object  of  their  search,  but  sure  to  find  a  tomb. 
Time  touched  them  gently  as  he  measured  the 
years,  and  from  their  raven  locks  solitude  with 
held  those  silver  flakes. 

On  the  quarterline  somewhat  back  from  Silver- 
shade  and  still  deeper  in  the  hemlock  woods,  stood 
a  cabin  somewhat  similar,  but  smaller  and  less 

113 


pronounced,  bearing  the  poetic  title  of  Idlehour. 
The  family  here  consisted  of  father,  mother  and 
one  daughter.  This  daughter  had  been  chosen  by 
the  Poet  of  the  Pines  for  his  prima  donna  in  his 
native  ode,  entitled  "The  Pets  of  the  Gods."  Mazie 
of  Idlehour  was  fair  to  look  upon,  unskilled  in 
coquetry,  yet  in  her  middle  teens.  As  she  emerged 
from  those  sylvan  and  somber  shades  dressed  in 
pristine  calico — for  silks  and  satins  then  belonged 
to  dreams  and  duchesses — you  could  easily  have- 
supposed  that  she  was  the  fairjr  sought  by  the  scar 
let  gowned  and  immortal  hunter  Robin  Hood. 
Permit  the  writer  this  one  personal  pleasure — to 
speak  of  her  with  reverence  due  her  virtue  and  a 
pathos  born  of  sweet  meditation. 

Eastward  from  Silvershade  stood  giant  trees  of 
some  forty  families.  Northward  ran  the  memor 
able  Manistee,  making  its  silver  bow  to  wash  the 
fir-crowned  hills  on  its  southward  circuit.  West 
ward  were  the  prim  arbutus  meadows  dotted  with 
an  occasional  bush  oak,  rose  willow  and  hazel 
brush.  It  seemed  that  nature  had  assembled  all 
her  graces  to  make  enchanting  this  fair  abode. 
The  songs  of  the  innumerable  wild  birds,  the 
fragrance  of  the  sweetest  flowers  mingled  with 
the  sighing  winds  and  swaying  branches  charmed 
childhood  till  day  dreams  and  night  dreams  were 
sisters.  The  sky  was  the  academy,  the  birds  were 

114 


the  books  and  the  seasons  were  the  teachers,  the 
sun  was  the  call  bell,  the  moon  was  the  curfew; 
life  was  a  wonderland.  Tragedy,  comedy  and  sub 
limity  chased  each  other  over  the  faded  back 
ground  in  charming  succession.  Do  not  ask  me  to 
restore  this  ruined  mansion,  it  is  lost  with  the  arts 
of  the  ages.  The  plash  of  the  dappled  trout,  the 
leap  of  the  agile  grayling  in  the  limpid  streams, 
the  grasshopper  as  he  cracks  his  tiny  bones,  the 
cricket  sawing  his  black  fiddle,  the  treetoad  blow 
ing  his  native  flute,  are  artists  in  this  passing 
drama;  and  as  they  united  to  produce  this  wilder 
ness  symphony  time  stole  from  the  gem  casket 
some  of  earth's  rarest  jewels. 

Silvershade  was  to  have  a  house-warming,  an 
event  of  annual  interest  to  which  everybody  from 
all  directions  were  invited.  This  celebration  was 
to  commemorate  the  day  that  family  moved  into 
the  log  mansion.  People  from  every  station  of 
life  gathered  at  this  place  to  enjoy  the  event,  and 
among  the  shantymen  who  came  from  the  camp, 
situated  at  the  Ox-Bow  Bend,  was  Nick,  in  com 
pany  with  his  partner,  the  poet,  as  the  latter  was 
a  member  of  the  family  at  Silvershade. 

Nick  was  introduced  by  the  poet  to  his  father, 
mother,  sisters  and  brothers  (seven  boys  and  four 
girls),  and  Nick  taxed  his  memory  to  its  limit  to 
properly  place  each  member  of  the  family,  and 

115 


associate  their  faces  and  their  names. 

There  was  a  crowd  of  about  sixty  people,  rang 
ing  from  graybeards  to  babies — a  heterogeneous 
company — lumber  jacks,  rivermen,  mossbacks, 
bosses,  agents  and  others. 

Few  were  the  preparations  made  for  the 
amusements  beforehand,  but  the  stress  was  laid 
on  the  comforts,  the  harmony  and  the  feast.  These 
major  details  had  been  carefully  and  tastefully 
looked  after  by  the  mother  and  the  older  girls. 

The  games  played  were  of  the  simple  back 
woods  quality,  chess,  checkers,  cards,  tin-peddler, 
"take  home  what  you  borrow,"  "the  happy  miller" 
and  the  like.  The  various  classes  assembled  in 
formally  in  twos,  threes  or  larger  groups  accord 
ing  to  the  games  and  amusements  which  had  been 
chosen. 

After  a  pleasant  time  had  been  enjoyed,  merely 
in  a  welcome  and  salutation,  they  naturally  came 
to  order  and  \vere  seated  on  the  clumsy  wooden 
chairs  and  benches  and  were  delighted  to  hear  the 
announcement  that  Lee,  the  musical  prodigy  of 
the  family  and  the  surrounding  country,  would 
favor  them  writh  a  medley. 

The  young  man  drew  from  a  red  calico  case 
his  home-made  banjo,  having  a  long  black  ash 
stale,  white  maple  keys,  redwood  frets,  a  leather- 
wood  bridge,  horsehair  strings  and  a  new  white 

116 


skin  head  stretched  over  the  drum,  made  from  the 
cover  of  a  cheese  box,  around  which  he  had  set  a 
full  dozen  home  invented  brackets. 

The  observing  mother  eyed  him  mysteriously, 
yet  with  a  certain  pride  which  imbues  all  true 
parents,  then  she  burst  into  words: 

"I  thought  your  banjo  head  was  broken?" 

"It  was,  but  I  have  a  new  one,"  he  answered. 

"A  new  one,  indeed,  but  tell  me  this  instant 
where  you  got  it!" 

As  his  inquiring  mother  said  these  words  she 
assumed  an  attitude  of  control  which  character 
ized  her  determination.  This  was  particularly 
noticed  by  the  good-natured  company  of  people, 
now  supposing  something  unpleasant  was  con 
nected  with  the  new  banjo  head. 

"Had  to  do  it,  mother,  dear,  you  know,  isn't 
that  explanation  enough?"  mildly  exclaimed  the 
long-haired,  brown-eyed  musician. 

"Had  to,  is  not  excuse  for  supplying  your 
want,  which  was  not  your  need,  my  son;  we  will 
talk  later  about  this." 

As  the  mother  settled  back  in  her  chair,  cool 
and  self-possessed,  curly  haired  Ann,  the  baby  of 
the  household,  puckered  up  her  pretty  pink  lips 
and  sobbed  sadly.  Belle  tried  to  soothe  the  family 
favorite  while  the  young  musician  rendered  a 
medley  of  banjo  music  that  would  have  pleased 

117 


the  mighty  Mozart;  and  after  the  melodious  twang 
died  away  Ann  sobbed  bitterly  and  muttered  in 
child  fashion: 

"Muver,  I  can  hear  old  Omar  meow  ev'ry  time 
fcruver  plays.*' 

At  this  outburst  Carleton  interrupted  by  say 
ing:  "I  know  where  old  Omar  is  now,  play  an 
other  tune  on  the  old  cat,  Lee!" 

Lee  smiled  roguishly  while  Dlos  piped  in: 

"Yes,  play  the  tune  the  old  cat  died  on." 

As  Ann  continued  to  cry,  they  all  understood 
that  Omar,  the  favorite  house  cat's  pelt  was 
stretched  over  the  drum  of  Lee's  instrument. 

"That's  one  of  your  old  tricks,  Lee,"  said 
Beaver,  the  trapper  and  hunter  of  the  family,  "and 
had  ye  spit  it  out  of  you  I'd  trapped  you  a  bobcat 
and  their  skin's  tuffer" — 

"Catch  me  one,  Beaver,  will  oo',  me  isn't  got 
no  kitty  now,  boo-hoo,"  interrupted  Ann. 

"Yes,  I'll  get  ye  a  link,  an  ermine  and  a  wood- 
chuck,  und  a  porcupine  with  pink  eyes  and  white 
quills,  a  big  coon" — 

"Oh,  a  coonie,  too,  like  the  one  of  Letson's  oo' 
shot  fur  oo'r  cap." 

The  silence  was  painful,  at  this  betrayal.  Let- 
sons  had  missed  their  pet  coon,  Beaver  had  killed 
one  at  the  front  door  and  Ann  saw  a  blue  ribbon 
tied  around  its  neck,  and  at  once  they  all  knew  it 

118 


was  the  neighbor's  pet.  And  the  past  winter  on 
dress  parades  in  the  wilderness,  Beaver,  the  trap 
per,  had  sported  a  handsome  coon-skin  cap;  sitting 
next  to  Beaver  wras  the  oldest  son  of  the  Letson 
family,  his  face  reddening  almost  bright  enough 
to  light  a  candle  from,  then  after  the  chagrin, 
whitened  with  rage. 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  gingseng  we  dug 
last  fall,  Beaver,  if  you  did  not  buy  that  cap  with 
it?"  Belle  inquired. 

"Now,  Beaver,"  warned  Dlos,  "don't  tell  about 
the  three  pounds  of  yum-yum." 

"I'll  tell  'bout  every  derned  thing  I  know  if  ye 
spill  any  more  un  me,"  his  black  eyes  snapping 
like  the  jaws  of  a  fox-trap,  "  'bout  Otto  und  the 
maple  sugg',  'bout  Belle  und  Minnie  und  the  dried 
apples,  'bout  Dlos  und  the  'baker,  Will  und  the 
preserves  and  'bout  Carleton  and  his  sweetheart, 
Annie  Nichols,  and" — 

"Hush,  children,  that's  entertaining,  but  it's  get 
ting  too  real,"  intercepted  the  master  of  the  house. 

"Oh !  a  game,  a  game  for  the  young  folks  only," 
broke  in  Mazie,  the  idol  of  Idlehour. 

Sarah  Murphy  looked  approvingly  at  this  sug 
gestion,  but  watched  to  see  how  Gene  Warner 
would  feel,  for  tho'  she  was  nearly  forty  she  still 
counted  herself  with  the  young  folks.  Jim  Nichols 
eyed  Mazie  mysteriously  while  she  was  speaking, 

119 


and  seemed  trying  to  consume  her  beauty  with  his 
devouring  gaze. 

"Jack  in  the  dark,"  cried  Beaver. 

"Spat  'em  out,"  piped  Belle. 

"Pizen,"  insisted  Dlos. 

"Bull  in  the  ring  is  best  fur  us  boys,"  said  Art, 
while  over  a  dozen  girls  hissed  in  utter  disgust  at 
his  selfish  discrimination. 

"King's  den,  is  a  good  game  for  us  all,"  added 
Nick. 

"It  depends  on  where  you  come  from,"  put  in 
Gene  Warner,  edging  her  way  to  play  with  the 
unmarried  folks. 

"Let  it  be  a  three-ring  circus,"  added  the 
father,  "you  boys  play  on  the  far  side  of  the  kitch 
en  stove,  let  the  girls  have  the  center  of  the  room 
and  we  wall  have  chess,  checkers,  music  and 
stories  here." 

All  fell  in  with  this  happy  suggestion,  the  boys 
locked  hands  for  their  choicest  game,  "Bull  in 
the  Ring,"  with  Beaver  in  the  pen. 

As  the  boys  formed  a  big  circle  their  hands 
locked  tightly.  Beaver  slapped  his  hand  on  Nick's 
hard  arm,  saying,  "Whut's  this  arm?" 

"Basswood,"  was  the  answer. 

"Gee,  it's  tough  as  leatherwood,  Nick,  guess  ye 
don't  know  timber  this  side  ov  Ireland." 

"And  whut's  this  arm,  Dlos?" 

120 


"'Old  Hickory,"  came  the  information. 

"And  whut's  this,  Bill?" 

"Brass,  you  bet,  and  hard  to  break,"  assured 
the  big  brother  as  he  tightened  his  grip  like  a  vice 
which  made  his  pal  squirm,  fearing  the  agile  trap 
per  was  going  to  test  his  arm  of  brass. 

"Whut's  this  arm  ov"— 

"Old  Hemlock/'  declared  Ned. 

"Whut's  this  un  made  ov,  Lou?" 

"Gold,  ye  prospector."  \ 

"Whufs  this  arm  made  ov?" 

"Steel,  case-hardened." 

"Begorra,"  said  Nick,  "then  a  file  won't  touch 
it." 

"Rut  I'll  tech  it,  then,"  added  Beaver.  "And 
this?"  as  he  clapped  Carl  ton's  forearm. 

"Silver,  you  sausage,  pocket  it  if  ye  dare,"  so 
saying  he  tightened  his  hold. 

Basswood,  old  hickory,  brass,  gold,  silver,  steel, 
repeated  Beaver.  Then  like  a  panther  he  sprang 
at  the  arm  of  steel;  the  strong  knotty  hands  were 
gripped  like  iron  fn  a  persistent  deadlock  and 
corralled  the  young  woodsman  for  a  moment,  but 
shifting  suddenly  from  steel  to  old  hickory,  he 
broke  through  the  ring,  all  joining  after  him  in  a 
hot  pursuit.  The  fleeing  backwoodsman  cleared 
the  cook  stove  at  a  bound,  stormed  through  the 
flock  of  girls  who  were  playing  "My  Old  Injun, 

121 


My  Old  Squaw,"  and  up  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
cabin  sped  pursued  and  pursuers,  upsetting  the 
checker  board,  which  spoiled  the  rub  game  be 
tween  two  of  the  neighborhood  champions,  and 
raised  havoc  in  general. 

"Suppose  you  fellows  brimfull  of  ginger  play 
out  doors,  you  might  knock  the  shanty  over," 
joined  in  the  senior  Biglow. 

At  this  suggestion  Beaver  rounded  up  the 
young  men  and  said,  "It's  moonlight,  I've  forty 
traps  out  and  thirty  snares  of  wire,  and  two  bear 
deadfalls — whut  ye  say  und  ye  all  jine  me  in  lift 
ing  me  traps  and  combing  me  snares  and  spying 
the  deadfalls?" 

No  second  to  this  suggestion  was  needed,  caps, 
jackets,  mittens  and  scarfs  were  slung  on  in  a 
hurry,  two  guns  were  primed,  an  ax  and  hatchet 
in  arm,  and  all  was  in  readiness. 

"You're  not  going,  it's  too  late  and  I  want  Nick 
here,"  declared  Minnie,  the  eldest  daughter  and 
the  head  of  the  house  work  and  chief  entertainer. 

"We'll  only  go  fur  'nuff  to  bring  in  a  hare  from 
the  swamp  where  I  fixed  me  new  wire  snares," 
added  Beaver. 

"I'll  not  be  stubborn,  brother,"  answered  the 
girl  in  modified  tones.  "Be  gone  but  an  hour;  it's 
10  o'clock  now." 

Out  into  the  still  cold  night  sauntered  these 

122 


backwoods  fellows,  wading  through  the  frosty 
snow  and  inhaling  and  exhaling  the  sharp  air 
sparkling  with  frost;  the  steam  from  their  breath 
blown  into  the  brisk  air  froze  into  a  white  veil 
over  their  woolen  jackets  and  they  looked  like  a 
crowd  of  Dutch  Santa  Clauses,  as  they  went  on 
towards  the  swamp.  At  intervals  a  hare  would 
bound  off  into  the  forests,  only  visible  for  a  jump 
or  two,  for  his  robe  of  winter  was  as  white  as  the 
newly  fallen  snow. 

"Whoop,  don't  shoot,  it's  caught,  let  me  get  it!" 
said  a  half  dozen  voices  all  together,  as  a  large 
hare  bounded  like  a  rubber  ball  in  the  runway 
ahead  of  them. 

"Let's  bag  it  alive  and  turn  it  loose  in  the  house 
when  we  go  back,"  suggested  Dlos. 

"All  right,"  said  the  trapper,  "but  his  leg's 
broke,"  as  he  held  up  the  fine  specimen  of  a  jack- 
rabbit. 

"Let  me  carry  the  game,"  said  Nick.  "I  can 
carry  all  you  can  get  this  winter." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  added  Jim.  "Beaver  is  a 
wonder,  you  don't  know  him." 

The  snare  was  laid  down  low  and  the  noisy 
crowd  proceeded  farther  into  the  forest. 

"Let's  go  to  the  bear  pen  and  'zamin  the  bait, 
Beaver?"  suggested  Art. 

"Well,  that's  all  y'ed  'zamin,  you  tenderfoot; 

123 


ever  sence  the  frez,  don't  ye  know  bears  are  seven 
sleepers,  and  crawl  intu  the  ground  or  a  holler 
log,  or  a  tree  and  suck  ther  paw  till  a  big  thaw 
or  till  spring,  and  then  come  out  fat'es  mud?" 

"Naw,  the  duce  you  say,  I  hev  seen  bears  all 
winter,  lots  'o  times,"  said  Dlos. 

Bang,  bang,  bang,  went  the  woodsman's  gun 
in  lightning  sucession,  and  awTay  ran  the  hunter 
and  finished  the  game  with  the  helve  of  the  ax. 

"It's  a  dandy  red  fox,  hey?"  said  Nick.  "Hand 
it  over,  I'm  the  warden  of  the  woods,"  he  added. 
While  Beaver  buttoned  up  his  coat,  primed  his 
gun,  ready  for  whatever  might  pop  up. 

"Go  slow  and  don't  talk  now,  we're  comin'  to 
where  I  'spect  a  cat,'  'said  the  hunter. 

They  stole  cautiously  onward,  bowing  down 
under  the  low  spruce  limbs  ladened  with  great 
heaps  of  snow,  till  suddenly  Beaver,  always  in  ad 
vance,  beckoned  for  them  to  stand  still.  He  gave 
a  sudden  kick  at  a  small  pole  which  was  laid 
over  a  bent  tree,  and  goodness,  up  flew  the  tree 
twenty  feet  in  the  air,  pulling  up  with  it  a  steel- 
jump  trap  which  held  in  its  icy  grip  the  left  hind 
paw  of  a  big  bobcat. 

"Smithering  Moses,"  uttered  one. 

"See  her  spin,"  cried  another. 

"Yawl,  ye  cat-o-mount,  blast  ye,"  said  a  third. 

While  the  big  cat  spit,  swung  round  and  round, 

124 


bit  the  trap,  clawed  at  the  tree  and  squalled  till 
the  night  air  fairly  echoed  with  the  weird  wail- 
ings. 

"Hand  me  the  ax,"  said  Beaver,  the  master  of 
the  occasion.  And  with  three  ponderous  blows 
at  the  butt  of  the  ironwood  sapling  which  had 
been  bent  down  and  looked  like  the  fixture  in  a 
figure-four  to  which  the  trap  was  fastened  with 
a  staple,  he  severed  the  tree  and  the  sapling, 
trap,  chain,  cat  and  all  fell  in  a  tangled  and  lively 
mass,  burying  themselves  in  the  snow. 

"Surround  him,  boys,  let's  take  'im  alive, 
Nick's  warden,"  commanded  the  trapper.  While 
the  dozen  husky  fellows  circled  the  lively  spot  of 
snow  that  was  boiling  with  bobcats,  traps  and 
brush. 

"Davy  Crockett  and  all  the  rest  ov  ye,"  yelled 
the  trapper,  when  he  saw  that  the  sapling  had 
fallen  on  the  identical  spot  where  he  had  set  an 
other  trap,  which  had  evidently  caught  the  female 
cat.  The  chorus  of  screams  made  plenty  of  noise, 
and  the  scrambling  cats,  the  flying  snow  and  the 
excited  boys  made  the  woods  ring. 

They  cut  clubs  and  closed  in,  Nick  dealing  a 
deadly  blow  on  the  female  and  Beaver  succeeded 
in  bagging  the  tom-cat  alive. 

After  the  traps  were  reset,  with  their  live  rab 
bit,  live  cat,  dead  fox  and  dead  cat,  they  hastened 

125 


for  home 

It  had  taken  them  but  an  hour  (o  make  ffre 
rounds  and  without  letting  the  folks  at  home  know 
what  they  had  taken  from  the  traps,  leaving  their 
bags  outside,  they  entered  the  cabin  and  joined 
in  the  sports. 

At  this  period  the  benches  were  set  aside  and 
the  dance  was  begun.  Sixteen  persons,  or  two 
sets,  could  be  enjoyed  at  once,  and  with  four  musi 
cians,  twenty  were  engaged  at  a  time.  The  master 
of  the  house  played  his  harp,  the  banjo  managed 
by  Lee,  the  violin  by  Rupert  and  the.  mouth  organ 
by  Jake  Buckle. 

At  11  o'clock  the  matron  passed  the  maple 
sugar.  It  had  been  moulded  in  patty  tins,  small 
heart-shaped  receptacles,  which  made  pretty 
scalloped  cakes,  and  this  was  enjoyed  then  fully 
as  well  as  chocolate  or  brick  ice  cream  is  at  pres 
ent. 

At  12  o'clock  the  tables  were  spread,  chairs  set 
and  a  regular  backwoods  banquet  was  served. 

Nick  sat  next  to  Minnie  and  greatly  enjoyed 
the  hearty  repast.  They  were  much  amused  with 
each  other,  she  admired  his  native  cleverness,  and 
wit,  while  he  smiled  satisfactorily  in  return. 

The  orderly  society  mingled  in  merriment  and 
frolicked  in  funny  epigrams.  They  cracked  jokes, 
guessed  conundrums,  gave  impromptu  speeches, 

126 


exhibited  extemporaneous  'oratory  and  measured 
with  with  one  another. 

It  was  one  by  the  grandfather  clock,  and  as 
the  ancient  timepiece  struck  his  single  blow  from 
his  station  on  the  stair,  the  friends,  neighbors  and 
lumbermen  expressed  themselves  that  it  was  time 
to  break  up.    The  smaller  children  were  asleep  on 
chairs  and  benches,  but  still  the  matron  was  serv 
ing  the  browned  buckwheat  cakes  hot  from  that 
family  griddle — the  older  members  of  the  com 
pany  were   smothering   with  maple   syrup   those 
palatable  favorites  of  cookery — when  suddenly  a 
great  bobcat  that  looked  like  the  dream  a  hunter 
might  have  of  a  tiger,  leaped  upon  the  table  be 
tween  Nick  and  Minnie,  cut  down  the  extended 
3)oard,  hair  ruffled,  foot  bleeding,  knocking  over 
catsup   bottles   and  syrup   pitchers.     The  frantic 
yells  of  the  revelers  almost  scared  the  life  out  of 
the  intruder,  and  it  bounded  from  the  table  and 
lit  in  the  pancake  batter,  leaving  three  tracks  on 
the  red-hot  griddle,  and  then  shot  out  the  window, 
which  was  opened  to  allow  the  smoke  to  escape. 
As  the  cat  landed  in  the  snow  outside  there  was 
«  spit  and  a  spat,  a  howl  and  a  scrap.  Kyser.  the 
big  Newfoundland  dog,  ever  on  the  alert,  had  been 
guarding  the  cat  in  the  bag,  and  when  the  tor 
mentor  Dlos  had  stolen  out  to  spring  the  joke  he 
watched,  rather  expecting  the  cat  to  escape.  When 

127 


the  excited  boys  reached  the  door  the  invincible 
dog  had  conquered  and  the  cat  lay  dead  in  the 
path. 

The  event  came  to  a  close,  though  rather 
abruptly,  but  satisfactorily,  and  they  took  their 
way  homeward.  Nick  was  invited  to  come  again 
and  he  gladly  thanked  the  matron  for  the  welcome 
and  assured  her  he  would  comply  most  cheer 
fully. 


128 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

EEK  after  week  Nick  came  with  his  part- 
&er,  the  poet,  to  spend  Sunday  at  this 
hospitable  mansion,  with  this  charm 
ing  family,  and  was  considered  by 
many  as  a  lucky  dog,  to  have  fallen  in  so  favor 
ably  with  them  all. 

Spring  came  with  its  thousand  charms,  the 
camps  broke  up  and  Nick  was  to  spend  the  transi 
tion  period  between  sledding  and  wheeling  at  Sil- 
vershade. 

It  was  sugar-making  time.  Four  hundred  ash 
and  basswood  sap  troughs  had  been  chopped  out 
by  the  younger  brothers,  and  had  been  singed  in 
side  so  the  sugar  would  not  taste  of  the  wood. 
The  spiles  had  been  made  from  the  stems  of  su 
mac.  (This  wood  grows  in  small  bushes  and  has 
a  free  pith,  which  can  easily  be  punched  out,  and 
was  therefore  used  for  spiles.)  The  candy  pails 
for  gathering  the  sap  had  been  taken  from  the 
shanty  in  the  sugar  bush  and  washed  out,  the  neck- 
yokes  were  repadded  and  everything  set  in  readi 
ness  to  tap  the  bush  just  as  soon  as  the  wind  blew 
from  the  south. 

Minnie  was  an  immaculate  housekeeper,  her 
mother  was  delighted  with  her  virtue  and  obedi 
ence.  Nick  grew  very  fond  of  her.  She  was  viva 
cious,  lively  and  amiable,  read  extensively,  sang 

129 


and  played  in  a  charming  manner.  Nick  needed 
a  sister  and  Minnie  was  all  that  to  him.  This  ac 
quaintance  was  no  love  match,  while  she  was  a 
sister  the  boys  were  as  brothers  to  him  and  the 
parents  were  as  his  own. 

During  the  warm  spring  days  the  young  folks 
greatly  enjoyed  themselves  in  the  manifold  amuse 
ments  possible,  under  such  circumstances  and 
afar  in  the  wilderness.  They  hunted  and  fished, 
and  both  hunting  and  fishing  were  fine.  If  they 
lacked  knowledge  in  either  of  these  crafts,  Beaver 
gladly  gave  them  information. 

"Boys,  boys,  get  up,  it's  four  o'clock,  the  wind's 
in  the  south,  we're  going  to  tap  the  bush,"  came 
the  words  rather  slowly  from  the  master  of  the 
house  to  the  boys  in  the  bed  chamber. 

"Be  quiet,  don't  wake  up  the  two  little  lads  and 
Ann,"  charged  the  father  as  he  tip-toed  down 
stairs. 

It  was  April.  There  had  been  many  sunshiny 
days,  but  the  wind  was  cold  and  held  in  the  north, 
the  sun  had  melted  the  snow  especially  on  the 
south  side  of  the  hills.  The  sunshine  and  cold 
wind  dries  up  the  sap  and  is  a  poor  time  to  tap,  so 
at  the  first  approach  of  spring  with  soft  south 
winds  they  usually  tapped  the  sugar  bush. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  have  any1  breffust,  or 
make  a  fire?"  asked  Dlos. 

130 


"'No,  pull  on  your  boots  without  warming,  let 
your  feet  warm  them,  and  we'll  come  back  to 
breakfast  after  we  have  tapped  fifty  trees,"  an 
swered  the  master. 

The  boys  hurriedly  dressed,  pulled  up  their 
well-worn  woolen  socks,  darned  nearly  to  death, 
tossed  on  their  caps  and  with  brace  and  bit,  gouge, 
mallet,  ax,  drawshave  and  jacknife,  made  straight 
for  the  sugar  bush. 

"Nick,  you  tap  with  the  ax  and  gouge,  yo're  an 
ax  expert,  drive  the  flat  spiles  in  after  you  have 
pulled  out  the  gouge,  make  a  little  notch  above 
the  spile  and  be  sure  the  sap  runs  on  the  spile  and 
set  the  rough  straight  so  it  will  hold  an  even  paul, 
tap  on  the  southeast  side  of  the  tree,  unless  it 
leans  too  heavily  in  the  opposite  way;  Carlton  will 
carry  your  spiles  and  trucks,"  informed  the  father. 

Nick  went  at  the  task  with  all  dexterity,  while 
the  father,  with  brace  and  bit  and  the  round 
spiles  to  fit  the  holes  he  bored  and  those  which 
had  been  punched  so  the  sap  would  run  through, 
with  Dlos  as  an  assistant,  took  his  place  before 
sunrise  in  the  east  side  of  the  bush  and  began  to 
tap  the  sugar  maples.  The  other  boys  were  de 
tailed  to  carry  the  troughs  and  place  them  at  the 
trees  after  they  were  tapped. 

"Crackey,"  shouted  Nick,  "how  she  spurts,"  as 
he  pulled  out  his  gouge  and  hurriedly  reached  for 

131 


a  spile. 

"Come  on,  set  the  trough,  I'm  ready;  it  will  he 
full  before  breakfast  if  it  continues." 

"That's  fifty  for  me,"  said  the  master. 

"And  fifty-two  for  me,"  said  Nick, 

"It's  brekfust  time  fur  me,"  snarled  Dlos. 

"It  will  be  here  pretty  soon,  we  can't  go  after 
it,  we  must  be  boiling  by  10  o'clock  because  the 
troughs  will  be  running  over,"  said  his  father. 

"I'll  make  a  fire  in  the  arch  and  we  might  as 
well  pull  out  the  sap  pans  and  go  at  it,"  said  Bill, 
the  older  brother. 

He  put  the  bars  over  the  center  of  the  arch  to 
support  the  middle  of  the  great  pans  four  feet 
wide  and  six  feet  in  length  and  eight  inches  deep. 
Laid  the  fire  with  dry  maple  split  fine,  arranged 
the  barrels  in  rows  to  receive  the  sap  as  it  was 
carried  by  the  other  boys  in  large  wooden  pails 
by  the  assistance  of  a  neck-yoke,  turned  over  the 
big  log  receptacle  which  held  twro  hundred  pails 
and  did  other  necessary  things. 

"Breakfast  everybody,"  called  Minnie,  as  she 
sat  down  a  great  basket  filled  with  edibles.  Every 
one  came  at  the  first  call  and  did  justice  to  the 
warm,  nutritious  food. 

By  10  o'clock  the  sap  was  boiling,  two  hun 
dred  trees  had  been  tapped  and  sugar  making  was 
on  in  earnest.  It  was  10  o'clock  that  night  before 

132 


a  mother's  son  left  the  bush.  They  sugared  off 
and  syruped  down  a  handsome  lot  of  sweets,  car 
ried  the  sugar  home  and  slept  like  bears. 

For  three  weeks  the  work  was  carried  on,  and 
sometimes  it  was  very  exciting  when  the  sap 
would  spurt  for  twenty-four  hours  without  stop 
ping,  and  it  had  to  be  boiled  down  or  waste.  Many 
times  the  pans  were  humping  night  and  day; 
words  cannot  describe  the  fuller  joys  of  boiling 
sap  at  night  alone  in  the  big  woods. 

It  was  the  last  night  of  sugar  making,  Nick  was 
to  keep  fire  that  night  and  boil  a  race  with  nature 
and  the  south  wind.  It  was  midnight  and  as  he 
sat  drowsily  before  the  arch  watching  the  flames 
leap  up  to  the  long  pan  and  run  along  the  whole 
length  and  blaze  out  the  smoke-stack  thirty  feet 
backward,  a  big  old  hoot  owl  screamed  his  ghostly 
"Hoo  hoo  augh,"  then  a  deer,  attracted  by  the 
light  of  the  flames,  snorted  and  fled  into  the 
thicket.  The  light  blinded  Nick's  eyes  so  he  could 
not  see,  and  all  of  a  sudden  "Bang!"  went  a  big 
gun,  both  barrels  at  once — splash,  dropped  an  owl 
in  the  pan  of  fresh  sap,  throwing  froth  from  the 
boiled  feathers  in  the  face  of  the  midnight  toiler. 

"Did  I  get  'm?"  inquired  Beaver.  "I  shot  Mm  on 
the  wing." 

"Yes,  I  got  'im  on  the  wing,  too,"  responded 
Nick.  "Have  some  boiled  owl." 

133 


"Not  on  yer  tin-type,"  was  the  reply,  "foiled 
owls  are  tuffer'in  tripe." 

"That's  a  sweet  mess,"  added  Nick,  as  he  fished 
out  the  dead  owl.  "I  might  as  well  throw  the  sap 
away,  I  s'pose  I  can  hardly  catch  up  anyhow,  the 
sap  is  just  spouting.  Blisby  was  over  in  the  even 
ing  and  said  sap  run  better  when  the  wind  was 
north,  if  it  was  not  too  cold." 

"P'raps  so  and  p'raps  woodchuck,"  said  Beaver. 
"These  things  are  unsarten,  nothing  worth  while 
but  game  and  fish  here.  Nick,  I  hev  a  mind  to  go 
at  it  for  good,  and  go  where  it  will  pay  mi." 

As  the  two  emptied  the  pan  and  filled  it  again 
with  clean  sap  and  stuffed  the  great  mouth  of  the 
arch  full  of  dry  maple  wood,  they  talked  of  hunt 
ing  and  trapping  and  life  amid  the  wilds. 

The  two  boys  sat  down  on  an  old  bench  braced 
up  against  the  sugar  camp  and  while  the  fire  lit 
up  the  woods  and  sent  the  warm  beams  against 
the  camp,  this  cheerful  scene  was  attended  by  the 
roar  of  the  flames  leaping  up  the  throat  of  the 
smoke-stack,  and  the  sizzling  of  the  cold  sap 
against  the  sides  of  the  sap  pans;  Beaver  opened 
his  heart  to  Nick  in  the  following  manner. 

"Dad  went  West,  so  am  I  goin'  sum  time;  I 
hain't  lazy,  but  I  want'er  do  whut  I  want'er  do. 
I  mean  to  be  a  scout,  a  hunter,  trader  and  trap 
per  like  Carson,  Boone,  Brady  and  Kenton;  if 

134 


ther're  any  Injuns  left  Fur  me  to  make  my  glory 
on." 

Nick  nodded  occasionally,  while  he  skimmed 
the  sap  with  a  tin  plate  punched  full  of  holes  and 
tied  to  a  long  handle,  almost  ignoring  the  future 
intentions  of  the  backwoodsman. 

"Hev  we  got  any  sugg'  out  her  Nick?"  inquired 
Beaver,  changing  the  subject. 

"Lots  of  soft  sugar  in  the  tub  under  the  bench 
in  the  shanty,  and  here's  the  spoon,"  handing 
Beaver  a  clumsy  wooden  spoon  he  had  whittled 
out. 

Beaver  filled  the  saucer,  emptied  it,  refilled 
it  and  devoured  it  again;  then  he  sat  down  be 
fore  the  warm  fire  and  fell  asleep.  He  w*as  awak 
ened  at  six  o'clock  to  assist  in  syruping  down  the 
last  batch  that  year.  After  they  emptied  the  small 
pan  that  stood  at  the  rear  of  the  arch  they  went 
to  breakfast. 

The  ground  w^as  hard  enough  after  the  spring 
rains  to  begin  wheeling  early  in  June,  and  Nick 
had  hired  out  to  Pierce  to  drive  the  big  grays  on 
the  wheels.  But  before  he  left  the  young  folks 
planned  a  day's  outing  and  invited  Nick  along. 
The  place  they  had  chosen  for  the  object  of  their 
outing  was  about  five  miles  east,  commonly  known 
as  the  Beaver  Meadows.  This  was  a  long  strip 
of  lowlands  skirting  the  Ausable,  which  at  some 
early  day  had  been  heavily  timbered — but  had 

135 


been  cut  by  beaver  and  the  material  used  for 
dams  in  the  various  creeks  and  rivers. 

With  plenty  of  food  the  company  of  twenty 
girls  and  boys  left  the  house  at  seven  o'clock;  the 
dew  was  very  heavy,  the  ferns  and  berry  bushes 
were  loaded,  so  the  boys  went  ahead  to  brush  off 
the  dew  for  the  girls.  To  gain  the  open  country 
that  walking  would  be  good,  it  was  necessary  to 
ford  the  Little  Manistee,  but  when  they  reached 
the  swift  little  stream  the  girls  feared  to  cross. 

"Here's  your  pack  mules,"  called  Nick,  as  he. 
Beaver,  Carlton  and  Dlos  backed  up  to  the  shore 
with  their  jeans  rolled  up  to  their  hips.  "Four 
girls  at  a  time  and  two  round  trips  are  all." 

As  they  reached  the  farther  side  of  the  river 
safely  and  hit  into  the  thin  woods,  something  at 
tracted  Beaver's  attention  off  south. 

"Screenchin'  bobcats,  here's  the  pigin  rookery," 
exclaimed  the  trapper.  "I  knowed  by  the  clouds 
of  'em  that  passed  over  to  the  Travis  Bay  that  it 
was  nigh  here  where  they  nested.  They  fly  every 
night  'n  morin'  fur  water  and  food  'bout  sixty 
mile." 

"They  must  all  be  home  now,  there's  billions 
of  them  among  those  Jack-hemlocks,"  added  Bill. 

"Their  eggs  are  good  eatin,  und  I  know  fresh 
uns,  they're  white-es  chalk,  while  the  old  uns  are 
old  iv'ry  color,"  remarked  Beaver. 

136 


137 


"Let's  have  eggs  for  dinner,"  shouted  Dlos  as 
he  ran  for  the  rookery. 

"Get  the  white  uns,  und  I'll  wring  the  heads  off 
some  ov  the  roosters;  I  know  um  by  the  special 
blue  and  green  shade  ariund  their  neck,  and 
there're  fatter,  too." 

"Don't  kill  the  mother  birds,  if  you  do  I  can't 
eat  a  bite  of  dinner,"  added  Belle. 

"No,  nor  the  sons  and  daughters,"  concluded 
Minnie. 

"I'll  see  that  all  they  get  will  be  aunts,  uncles 
and  grand-parents,"  Nick  added,  as  he  hastened 
to  the  grove  of  small  jack-hemlock,  alive  with  pas 
senger  pigeons.  The  boys  returned  with  a  gener 
ous  supply  of  eggs  and  fully  a  dozen  fat  roosters 
in  their  game  bag. 

They  had  to  cross  over  a  wide  marshy  place 
overgrown  with  tag-alder,  willow,  shintangle  and 
occasionally  a  tall  tamarack,  the  black  offspring 
of  the  noted  larch. 

"Give  me  a  boost,  Dlos,  and  I'll  get  that  chew 
ing  up  thar,"  said  Beaver,  pointing  to  a  great  lump 
of  tamarack  gum. 

Like  a  cat  he  scaled  the  tree,  broke  off  the 
gum,  slid  to  the  ground  and  divided  it  among 
the  crowd. 

"Wonder  what  that  blaze  means  on  that  big 
tree,  nobody  lives  'round  here,"  yelled  Bill. 

138 


"That's  no  ax  blaze,  don't  ye  know  that,  it's 
bear  signs,"  said  Beaver,  as  he  pulled  off  the 
rough  bark  and  pointed  to  four  deep  holes,  which 
looked  as  though  spikes  had  been  drawn  out  from 
the  tree.  It  wras  six  feet  from  the  ground  and  evi 
dently  the  work  of  a  black  bear. 

"Gosh,"  said  Dlos,  excitedly,  "don't  let  the 
girls  know  we're  in  a  bear's  den!" 

At  this  the  boys  joined  with  the  company  of 
girls. 

"I'm  getting  dry,"  said  Minnie,  "and  we  forgot 
to  bring  cups." 

"Here's  a  drink,"  said  Nick,  as  he  stooped  down 
and  picked  a  small  green  globular  plant,  shaped 
almost  exactly  like  a  French  goblet,  which  held 
about  one-fourth  of  a  gill — and  was  brimming 
with  rain  water. 

"Wait  till  I  fill  it  with  fresh  nectar."  And 
stooping  again,  he  dipped  it  full  from  a  tiny 
stream,  working  its  sedgy  way  between  columbine 
and  cowslips,  and  handing  it  to  Minnie  he  ex 
claimed: 

"Adam's  ale,  in  Eve's  mug,  my  fairy,;  drink 
heartily,  is  the  toast." 

"Oh,  whoever  saw  such  a  thing  growing  be 
fore?"  questioned  Mazie. 

"I  hev,  lots  ov  em,  ther  frog-cups,"  said  Beaver. 

When  the  company  reached  the  higher  ground 

139 


and  emerged  into  the  thick  woods,  Beaver  stopped 
and  peeled  several  hushes,  stuffing  the  hark  in 
his  pocket. 

"Come  on  and  stop  monkeying,  Beaver,  or 
we'll  never  get  to  the  meadows,"  growled  Dlos. 

"I'm  getting  some  leatherwood  bark,  it's  use- 
i'ul,  and  not  much  of  it  in  these  parts;  it's  good 
lor  bow-strings,  and  it  ken  be  used  to  weave 
snowshoes;  it's  suthin  like  buckskin." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time, 
Beaver  ahead,  when  he  broke  the  silence  by  say 
ing:  "We're  goin'  too  fur  south,  I  ken  tell  by  the 
moss." 

"By  the  moss,  what's  that  go  to  do  with  it?" 
inquired  Nick. 

"It  has  this,"  answered  Beaver,  "ye  see  most 
all  moss  grows  on  the  north  side  ov  the  trees, 
and  when  ye  look  thet  way  ye  ken  see  lots  ov  it, 
and  when  ye  look  thet  way  ye  ken  see  just  a 
leetle." 

"I  see,  then  when  you  look  south  you  see  the 
moss,  do  you?"  inquired  Nick. 

"Exactly  so,"  said  the  trapper. 

Shifting  to  the  south  by  the  new  compass,  they 
were  halted  by  the  sudden  noise  of  a  hen  partridge 
in  their  path.  She  ran  ahead  of  the  company, 
scratching  the  dry  leaves  with  her  spread-out 
wings  and  whistled  like  a  school  boy — then  after 

140 


this  mysterious  maneuver  she  rose  and  flew. 

"Whoop,"  cried  Beaver,  "a  nest  ov  yung  uns." 

As  he  said  this  he  cocked  his  eagle  eyes  steadily 
around  him.  "It's  yung  uns,  here's  one,"  he  said 
as  he  picked  a  little  chick  from  under  a  large 
linden  leaf. 

"Are  there  others,  brother ?"  piped  Belle, 
eagerly. 

"P'raps  thirty  or  less,  right  round  us,*'  was 
the  answer. 

A  careful  search  revealed  three  more,  and 
Dlos  also  found  two  young  blue-jays  sitting  alone 
on  a  limb. 

"Let's  take  them  home,"  pleaded  Belle,  "and 
let  my  old  hen  Blackie  raise  them,  she's  a  good 
mother." 

"They'd  die  or  fly  away,"  said  Beaver. 
"They're  shy  game.  Did  ye  see  the  old  hen 
maneuver  when  we  first  seen  'er,  she  was  tryin* 
to  'tract  our  'tention  while  the  chicks  hid." 

While  they  held  and  examined  the  chicks, 
Beaver  made  a  cage  with  leatherwood  bark  and 
put  the  young  birds  in  it.  With  the  happy  find 
and  the  cage  so  ingeniously  constructed,  the  com 
pany,  all  but  Beaver,  proceeded  on  their  way. 
Scarcely  had  they  disappeared  when  the  old  hen 
came  scurrying  back,  giving  that  occasional,  in 
imitable  whistle,  which  Beaver  had  tried  so  hard 

141 


to  mimic,  but  failed;  and  at  her  call,  from  under 
bunches  of  dead  grass  and  old  leaves,  from  hem 
lock  and  myrtle  cautiously  came  forth  about 
twenty  little  partridges  and  the  family  was  re 
stored. 

As  Beaver  caught  up  to  the  company  he  heard 
Kyser  barking  off  to  the  left,  and  he  warned  them 
that  there  was  something  to  bark  for,  so  they  all 
went  to  his  rescue.  As  they  approached  the  dog 
would  bark  up  a  big  hemlock  tree  and  then  run 
and  bark  into  the  end  of  a  hollow  log.  Beaver 
pulled  his  six-shooter  and  clipped  off  the  head 
of  an  old  rooster  pheasant  sitting  fifty  feet  high 
on  a  hemlock  limb.  Then  he  hastened  to  the  log, 
and  suddenly  he  seized  Kyser  by  the  collar  and 
slipped  over  to  join  the  company,  saying,  "Pugh, 
a  pole-cat." 

On  the  edge  of  the  meadow  was  a  pretty  glade, 
and  here  they  decided  to  spread  their  banquet. 

"Wait  till  I  boil  the  eggs  and  cook  the  birds," 
said  Beaver.  So  saying,  he  rolled  three  stones  to 
gether,  gathered  some  dry  limbs  and  built  a  fire. 
Then  he  took  the  pail  and  filled  it  half  full  of 
water,  dropped  in  a  couple  of  dozen  egg,  and  set 
it  on  the  stones  over  the  fire. 

"Now  bile,*'  he  addressed  the  pail,  then  turn 
ing  to  the  girls  said: 

"It  takes  thirty-two  minutes  to  bile  eggs  soft, 

142 


and  then  ther  dun.  Now  Dlos,  take  that  lump  liv 
e-lay,"  as  he  kicked  a  big  chunk  of  blue  clay  from 
a  knoll,  "and  wrap  up  the  birds,  feathers  und  all, 
and  bake  em  in  the  fire." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Dlos  asked. 

"Fm  goin  over  to  the  woods  thar  to  pick 
squirrel  corn,  and  dig  sum  groun'  nuts  fur  a 
relish,"  answered  Beaver. 

After  the  noonday  repast  the  boys  went  fish 
ing  in  the  Ausable  River,  capturing  a  handsome 
string  of  grayling  and  spotted  trout.  They  rolled 
them  in  wet  leaves  and  put  them  in  the  bottom  of 
the  game-sack.  As  they  were  leaving  they  heard 
a  floundering  noise,  hastening  to  the  place  they 
saw  a  great  fish  trying  to  get  out  of  a  shallow 
place  in  the  river. 

"Lasso  him  with  your  leatherwood,  Beaver," 
cried  Dlos. 

"It's  a  shark,  sea  serpent  or  a  night-mare," 
muttered  Lee. 

"No,"  said  Nick,  "it's  a  sturgeon  that  run  up 
from  the  lake;  there  are  plenty  of  them  in  Huron, 
but  I  never  saw  a  big  fish  in  little  water  before." 

"Hurrah,  boys,  grab  a  root,"  called  Bill,  "let's 
pen  him  up;  thank  heavens  he  can't  fly,  and  we 
must  get  him." 

They  all  laid  hold  of  a  long  log,  placing  it  be 
tween  the  fish  and  deep  water,  thus  cutting  off 

143 


his  retreat.  With  a  club  they  sfunned  if  anil 
then  succeeded  in  landing  him  on  the  bank.  Then, 
running  a  pole  through  its  gills,  and  with  one  end 
on  Bill's  back  and  ihe  other  end  on  Beaver's,  like 
the  biblical  grapes  of  Eschol,  they  managed  the 
big  fish  without  difficulty,  considering  them 
selves  lucky  fishermen. 

While  the  boys  were  thus  engaged  the  girls 
swung  on  the  tangled  wild  grape  vines,  gathered 
bird's  eggs,  marked  their  initials  on  tree  warts, 
painted  their  pink  cheeks  blood  red  with  Indian 
strawberries  and  trimmed  their  hats  with  myrtle 
and  cock-fern. 

"Who's  going  to  marry  first?"  cried  Sarah. 

"How  can  we  tell?"  inquired  Mazie. 

"Oh!  simple  enough,"  said  Sarah.  "All  sit 
down,  now  shut  your  eyes  tight,  every  one  of  you ; 
are  your  eyes  all  shut?"  she  inquired,  and  all  an 
swered  in  the  affirmative.  "Now  all  pick  a  violet, 
they  are  yellow  and  blue  all  around  us;  the  one 
who  gathers  the  largest  one  will  marry  first,  and 
the  one  who  gets  the  smallest  will  be  an  old  maid." 
They  all  jocundly  fumbled  for  violets,  every  one 
securing  what  they  sought. 

"All  have  a  flower?"  asked  Sarah. 

"Yes,  now  what?"  asked  Belle. 

"Now  measure  them,"  she  added. 

"Oh,    Belle's    got    the    largest    one,"    laughed 

144 


Helen. 

"And  Minnie's  got  the  smallest  one,  'old  maid, 
old  maid,  old  maid,"  laughingly  cried  Donna. 

"I  will  not  be  an  old  maid,"  retorted  Minnie, 
''fortunes  reverse,  too." 

"Now,  I  can  tell  who's  going  to  die  first,  by 
testing  the  stem  of  an  adder  tongue.  Everybody 
get  a  strong  stemmed  adder  tongue  and  come 
here,"  said  Mazie.  "Now  sit  opposite  each  other 
and  lock  your  flower  heads  together  and  pull 
gently." 

"Minnie's  broke  first,"  said  Belle,  "and  mine 
last." 

"That's  unlucky  for  Minnie  all  around,"  sighed 
Mazie. 

"I  might  as  well  die,  I  suppose,"  said  Minnie, 
"I  can't  get  married." 

Mazie  and  Donna  sat  opposite,  locked  their 
tender  flowers,  and  off  came  the  delicate  head  of 
the  adder  tongue  held  in  Mazie's  hand. 

"See  our  catch,  girls,"  shouted  Dlos,  as  the  boys 
entered  the  glade  where  the  girls  were  at  play. 

"Oh,  fine  indeed!"  they  all  exclaimed  together. 

"Reckon  we'd  better  hit  the  trail  fur  'omc,  it 
looks  stormy,  und  it's  six  miles  back,  counting 
crooks,"  said  Beaver. 

Then  he  clapped  his  hands  together,  locked 
his  fingers  over  each  other  in  a  funny  fashion  and 

145 


gave  three  conch-shell  blasts  for  Kyser.  The  old 
dog  came  to  camp  with  his  tail  down  and  acted 
very  sheepish. 

"What's  the  matter,  you  half-breed  f  scowld 
Beaver.  "Oh!  you  darn  ole  dogen,  ye  hev  a  dos 
fur  yer  whiskers.  See  here  Bill,  Kyser's  been  kill 
ing  a  porky,  and  his  mug's  full  of  quills;  see  em 
driven  in  his  sides  like  shingle  nails  where  he 
banged  'im  against  him,  when  he  shook  *im." 

Kyser  was  the  old  family  dog  they  had  brought 
into  the  country  with  them  and  was  considered 
a  member  of  the  family.  The  old  dog  whined 
with  pain  as  he  went  from  one  to  the  other,  hold 
ing  his  big  mouth  open. 

Belle  began  to  cry,  fearing  Kyser  would  die 
before  they  got  home. 

"Keep  still,  Sis,  pa  can  pull  them  out;  he  did 
twice  before.** 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  he  said  if  Kyser  killed  any 
more  porcupines  he  would  not  try  to  pull  the 
quills  out  as  it  was  such  a  terrible  job — and  if 
he  doesn't  pull  them  out  they  will  work  through 
him  and  kill  him." 

"Never  mind,  Belle,  I'll  see  that  Kyser  goes  to 
the  dentist  and  has  proper  care,"  were  Nick's  con 
soling  words. 

When  the  crowd  crossed  over  the  tamarack 
swamp  on  their  homeward  journey  they  captured 

146 


some  frogs,  and  Dlos  got  a  small  turtle  and  all 
were  slipped  into  the  game-sack. 

"I  wus  'fraid  we'd  get  soaked,"  muttered 
Beaver  as  they  gained  the  woods. 

"Why,"  asked  Bill.      % 

"'Cause  I  knowed  by  the  sand-flies,  an  no-see- 
ums,  say  nuthin  uv  the  'skeeters,  this  time  o'  day 
it  'ed  rain." 

"Thunder,"  said  Belle,  "a  big  storm  coming  up 
from  the  west  and  we  are  three  miles  from  home, 
oh  dear,"  and  as  she  finished  her  words  another 
big  clap  from  the  hammer  of  Thor  re-echoed 
through  the  dim  aisles  of  the  wilderness. 

"Let's  get  under  that  big  hemlock  tree,"  said 
Dlos. 

"No  taking  to  trees  in  a  thunder  storm,  it  taint 
thunder  thet  hurts  but  lightnin',  and  it  hits  hem 
locks  furst,"  warned  Beaver. 

"Where'll  we  go?"  asked  Carlton.  "I  hear  the 
rain  pounding  on  the  forests  over  yonder." 

"Here's  a  turn-up,"  said  Beaver,  stopping  at 
the  root  where  a  big  elm  had  been  blown  over 
and  had  raised  a  bank  of  earth  high  in  the  air 
making  a  flat  wall  about  ten  feet  across.  The  dirt, 
being  a  soft  damp  loam,  mixed  with  marl,  had 
curled  over  and  by  the  assistance  of  the  limber 
elm  roots,  which  supported  the  ground,  made  a 
spacious  canopy,  large  enough  for  them  all  to 

147 


crowd  under. 

Hardly  had  they  gathered  when  the  great 
tempest  so  common  to  those  parts  this  time  of  the 
year  came  down  upon  them  in  all  its  ruthless  fury. 
Everything  was  totally  drenched,  sheets  of  rain 
mingled  with  hail  and  accelerated  by  the  heavy 
winds,  roared,  poured  and  rattled,  till  the  woods 
fairly  rang  with  the  battle  of  the  elements.  A 
deafening  clap  of  thunder  followed  by  a  series  of 
crashes,  blinding  the  eyes  and  stunning  for  a 
moment  the  young  folks,  crowded  like  a  brood  of 
chickens  under  the  roots  of  the  turned  up  tree, 
added  to  their  discomfort,  and  when  they  became 
composed  again  they  saw  that  the  big  hemlock 
under  which  Dlos  had  suggested  they  seek  shel 
ter,  had  been  demolished  by  the  lightning,  and 
all  around  for  several  rods  slivers  were  sticking 
into  the  ground  like  the  spears  of  some  giant 
warriors. 

In  about  thirty  minutes  the  storm  abated,  and 
the  young  folks,  as  dry  as  sunshine,  went  merrily 
on  their  way  homeward. 

With  various  experiences  of  a  similar  nature 
to  those  related,  they  reached  home  at  sun-down. 
Kyser  was  operated  upon  by  the  master,  with  a 
hand-spike  over  his  head  and  a  clevis  to  hold  his 
mouth  open  and  with  a  pair  pinchers  the  good 
master  extracted  the  quills. 

148 


CHAPTER  IX. 

•NDEPENDENCE   DAY   arrived  —  Nick 

I\V  and  Minnie  were  to  drive  to  town  to 
II  spend  the  gala  day.  Nick  promised  to 
bring  back  a  part  of  the  day  in  the  form 
of  fireworks,  which  satisfied  the  younger  and 
more  enthusiastic.  The  time  Beaver  intended  to 
spend  in  the  woods,  as  he  wished  to  add  to  his 
aquarium,  which  was  the  huge  trough  in  the  rear 
of  the  house.  Here  he  kept  his  turtles,  frogs,  tad 
poles,  fish,  snails,  lizards  and  wigglers  for  pastime 
and  study.  He  had  manufactured  a  wooden  cage 
where  he  kept  a  pair  of  bald  eagles  and  other 
smaller  cages  where  he  kept  golden  robins,  bull 
finches,  linnets,  cook-coos,  thrushes,  jays  and  vari 
ous  other  birds.  In  an  old  dry  stub  was  a  nest 
of  woodpeckers  and  a  father  wren  had  bored  a 
tiny  hole  and  chopped  out  a  small  house  for  him 
self  and  his  bride,  just  below  the  red-headed 
woodpecker.  Within  a  rod  from  these  posses 
sions  was  a  cub  bear  tied  to  a  stump  by  a  log- 
chain,  also  a  part  of  Beaver's  menagerie. 

Thus  you  can  understand  that  Independence 
Day  had  no  attractions  for  this  child  of  the  for- 

149 


esfs. 

Lee,  the  magic  musician,  had  a  new  fen-cent 
mouth  organ  and  with  this  tied  to  a  stick,  and 
fastened  firmly,  so  he  could  run  his  lips  over  it 
without  the  use  of  his  hands,  he  picked  the  banjo 
with  his  fingers,  and  sawed  his  huge  base  viol 
with  the  bow  tied  to  his  bare  foot.  These  three 
instruments  played  by  one  individual  attracted 
wide-spread  attention. 

Carleton  had  arranged  a  handsome  bouquet  to 
send  to  his  sweetheart  and  Dlos  had  stealthily 
placed  a  big  odorous  leek  right  in  the  center  of 
the  flowers,  which  greatly  detracted  from  the 
sweetness  of  the  offering. 

Others  of  the  family  rambled  down  the  old 
logging  roads  overarched  with  a  cavern  of  leaves 
and  carpeted  with  blue-joint  and  dandelions. 
They  scared  one  another  with  snap-dragon, 
tickled  with  nettles,  pinched  soft  maple  pods  till 
the  water  flew  in  the  face  of  the  near  by  com 
panions,  picked  wintergreen  berries,  raspberries 
and  dug  gingseng.  In  this  simple  but  satisfying 
amusement  the  day  passed  by. 

Nick  and  Minnie  rode  to  town,  thirteen  miles 
away,  behind  old  Stub  and  Twist,  the  master's 
big  red  oxen.  They  were  hitched  to  a  two-wheeled 
cart,  minus  springs,  the  wheels  were  cut  from  a 
round  cherry  log  and  were  but  twenty  inches  in 

150 


diameter.  These  wheels  were  lired  with  iron 
hoops  taken  from  a  vinegar  barrel.  It  was  while 
laking  this  ride,  at  the  rate  of  three  miles  an  hour, 
that  Nick  for  the  first  time  opened  his  heart  to 
Minnie,  who  was  fifteen  years  his  junior.  As  he 
repeated  the  narrative  laden  with  love's  dis 
appointments,  big  round  tears  glistened  like  dia 
monds  in  those  large  and  beautiful  gray  eyes,  then 
rolled  down  those  plump,  pretty  cheeks,  which 
blushed  like  roses  of  Oregon.  Nick  wondered  if 
these  generous  tears  were  all  given  in  sympathy, 
or  if  they  were  shed  in  regret,  because  he  re 
hearsed  his  former  love-dream,  rather  than  pro 
pounding  new-born  affections.  A  few  days  re 
vealed  the  facts — Minnie  gave  him  sympathy  only, 
and  never  had  given  love  a  single  thought. 

The  Fourth  of  July  spent  at  this  primitive  and 
typical  village,  situated  on  the  banks  of  a  lake  far 
more  enchanting  than  fair  Killarney,  was  indeed 
a  merry  event. 

Many  of  the  mossbacks'  daughters  were  there 
dressed  in  white  dresses  girdled  with  pink  or  blue 
sashes.  In  their  hair  they  wore  fox-gloves,  iris 
and  other  wild  flowers. 

Unique  were  the  decorations  for  this  novel 
event.  And  the  improvised  stands  occupied  by 
the  novice  fakers  of  those  days  were  interesting 
indeed. 

151 


A  large  bowery  dance  hall  was  the  center  of 
attraction.  This  was  simply  a  floor  made  of  pine 
boards.  For  walls,  trees  had  been  set  in  double 
rows  to  add  to  the  seclusion  and  to  keep  out  the 
sunshine.  For  a  roof  they  had  the  canopy  of 
heaven.  Within  this  enclosure  they  danced  and 
enjoyed  the  merry  occasion.  After  each  set  the 
young  folks  would  skip  to  the  far  end  of  the 
bowery  and  drink  with  their  gay  partners  red 
lemonade,  a  newly  invented  nectar.  The  shanty- 
men  assembled  in  groups,  for  the  bowery  had 
many  attractions  for  them.  Some  were  dressed 
in  the  latest  style,  tailor-made  trousers,  tight  at 
the  knee  and  flaring  at  the  foot,  square-cut  sack 
coats,  white  shirts  and  paper  collars.  While  the 
day  was  hot,  the  modest  shantymen  wore  their 
coats,  though  merchants  and  others  peeled  the 
outer  superfluous  garments.  Then  some  of  the 
shantymen  who  had  no  new  clothing  joined  in  the 
amusement,  never  being  refused  a  dance  by  the 
girls  for  lack  of  a  new  suit,  and  they  danced  with 
considerable  grace  and  regularity.  There  was  an 
other  class  who  drank,  though  often  this  class 
were  the  quiet  gentlemen  at  camp,  but  made  asses 
of  themselves  when  booze  was  boss.  They  pro 
voked  the  quarrels  which  sometimes  ended  in  a 
free-for-all.  As  the  day  wore  on  the  order  was 
less  and  the  riot  and  wrrangling  increased.  It  was 

152 


fist  bunting  and  that  only.  Guns,  knives  and 
weapons  were  considered  cowardly  by  the  shanty- 
men.  There  would  be  no  grudges  after  the  fracas, 
they  washed  up,  bandaged  the  cuts,  tied  beefsteak 
on  the  battered  eyes,  shook  hands  and  drank 
again. 

Few  were  the  bullies  those  days.  They  were 
not  encouraged,  muscle  in  bulldog  fashion  was 
not  lionized,  but  detested  and  deserted,  hence  it 
decreased  rather  than  multiplied. 

The  hamlet  on  this  day  swelled  to  ten  times  its 
normal  proportions.  Nearly  everybody,  or  at  least 
every  family  in  all  the  country,  was  represented. 
Many  never  came  to  town  but  once  in  a  year,  and 
it  was  always  on  this  glorious  date. 

There  was  little  or  no  gambling,  the  roulette 
wheels,  three-card  monte  men,  faro  fiends  and 
shell  game  sharks  were  operating  in  other  quar 
ters.  No  class  of  men  ever  kept  themselves  so 
clean  from  evil  devices  as  did  the  shantymen  on 
the  Manistee. 

The  day  soon  wore  away,  the  dews  of  dark 
ness  enveloped  the  scenes,  the  dim  store  lamps 
flickered  from  the  windows  and  shot  a  mellow 
ray  across  the  sandy  road,  where  the  foot  races 
and  wrestling  bouts  had  left  deep  and  desperate 
signs.  The  bowery  was  deserted,  the  musicians 
had  flown.  The  fumes  of  black  powder  hung  low 

153 


near  where  they  fired  the  sun-set  salute  from  the 
blacksmith's  anvil,  which  passed  for  the  rural 
cannon.  The  lights  were  extinguished  in  the 
board  saloons,  the  belated  lumbermen  and  river- 
drivers  slowly  tramped  down  the  plank  sidewalks, 
reeling,  singing,  and  swearing  big  oaths,  they 
reached  Clark's  boarding  house,  turned  in  and 
were  silent.  The  mossbacks  drove  back  to  the 
country.  The  white  dresses  and  pink  sashes  were 
soiled  a  bit.  The  mossbacks'  sons  turn  to  the  plow 
and  the  oat  harvest,  the  maidens  to  the  kitchen, 
pantry  and  chamber  wrork.  The  shantymen  cut 
the  timber,  the  rivermen  pursue  their  fascinating 
employment  with  peavey  and  jampike. 

Four  hours  after  dark  Minnie  and  Nick  reached 
home.  Sweet  indeed  were  the  hours  of  slumber. 
Minnie  was  the  first  alert  the  next  morning,  and 
it  took  her  the  greater  part  of  the  day  to  relate 
the  experiences  in  the  village. 

Belle,  a  sweet,  blue-eyed,  delicate  girl,  over 
whose  fair  neck  fell  her  soft  brown  hair  in  gor 
geous  ringlets,  talked  much  of  that  upper  country 
and  pined  for  heavenly  associations.  She  usually 
absented  herself  from  all  worldly  amusements, 
refrained  from  cards,  disdained  dancing  and  re 
fused  to  read  novels.  And  it  was  often  said  of 
her,  "Belle  belongs  to  the  stars."  While  three 
years  younger  than  Minnie,  she  was  much  in  ad- 

154 


vanee  of  her  practical    sister    in    moral    ethics, 
heavenly  visions  and  religious  ideals. 

It  was  the  kind  sympathetic  sensible  Minnie 
•who  had  taken  full  charge  of  this  hospitable  man 
sion.  She  wisely  and  fairly  divided  the  work 
among  the  three  younger  sisters.  The  chairs  were 
v,  ashed  white  as  snow,  the  puncheon  was  scrubbed 
daily  with  a  rock-elm  splinter  broom,  the  cloth 
ing  was  rinsed  in  abundance  of  soft  water  and 
\vas  white,  clear  and  clean,  dust  never  settled,  the 
biscuits  light  and  flakey,  the  peachblow  potatoes 
baked  in  the  oven,  the  puddings,  salads,  gravies, 
corn-cakes  and  everything  they  ate  was  well 
cooked,  properly  seasoned  and  tastefully  served. 

The  matron  of  the  manor  was  a  woodland 
queen.  Handsome  as  the  portrait  of  Cleopatra; 
tall  and  erect  as  the  Maid  of  Athens,  her  eyes  were 
black  as  night  and  her  curly  black  hair  fell  deep 
ly  over  her  fair  shoulders.  She  was  nearing  fifty 
in  years  but  was  young  as  we  count  age.  She  had 
never  known  the  sins  of  society,  nor  jealous 
rivalries.  She  was  just  a  pioneer,  brave  and  full 
of  fortitude,  and  for  thirty  years  had  never  called 
a  doctor. 

While  she  knew  little  of  books,  she  knew 
poetry  galore,  and  knowing  nothing  of  masters, 
but  possessing  most  of  their  deep  and  immortal 
truths.  She  could  spell  down  every  school  master 

155 


who  ever  came  to  the  country,  and  it  was  often 
asked,  "How  can  she  be  educated,  having  never 
studied?" 

The  matron  knew  herbs  perfectly  and  com 
pounded  all  her  drugs.  She  knew  the  intrinsic 
value  of  boneset,  noble-liverwort,  sage,  gold 
thread,  tag-alder,  smart-weed,  hoarhound  and 
skunks-cabbage.  She  knew  all  the  natural  dis 
eases  and  applied  the  proper  remedy.  Diphtheria, 
scarlet  fever,  pneumonia,  mumps,  measles,  tonsi- 
litis,  influenza,  she  mastered  them  all.  Fear  shrank 
from  her  and  her  undaunted  courage  baffled  and 
beat  every  foe. 

If  the  harp-chord  broke  while  the  master 
played,  she  would  entertain  the  company  that  no 
lax  hours  intrude.  She  would  relate  the  thrilling 
tale  of  Captain  Lawrence  at  Put-in  Bay;  the  story 
of  the  young  commander  in  the  frigate  from  Bal 
timore,  or  recite  the  wild  tragedy  of  handsome 
Harry  who  was  drowned  by  the  ghost  of  his  jilted 
sweetheart. 

The  master  of  Silvershade  was  without  a  peer 
in  the  region.  Widely  traveled,  highly  schooled 
and  richly  endowed.  His  cultured  tenor  voice  was 
clear  as  a  meadow  lark's,  his  deep  blue  eyes 
beamed  with  a  liquid  glow  as  he  pored  over  the 
harp,  and  when  he  sang  minds  traversed  back 
ward  through  the  dim  ages  where  song  was  given 

156 


birth.  He  was  noted  also  for  his  great  versatility. 
The  adz,  fro  and  shingle  knife,  the  beetle  and 
wedges,  gluts  and  maul,  square,  compass  and  jack- 
planes,  he  had  mastered.  To  bring  in  a  buck  or 
a  bear,  a  fox  or  wolf,  was  a  common  feat  for  him. 
He  could  converse  about  the  gold  fields  of  Cali 
fornia,  draw  a  map  of  the  Mormon  trail  and  re 
cite  life  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York.  Could  read 
Greek  and  Latin,  speak  French  fluently,  talk 
politics  sensibly  and  dissect  the  literature  of  the 
ages,  could  sing,  play  and  entertain  in  a  wonder 
ful  fashion. 

The  Poet  of  the  Pines  enjoyed  a  wide  acquaint 
ance  He  inherited  both  from  his  father  and 
mother,  her  poetic  nature  and  his  sweeping  ver 
satility  were  discovered  in  the  talented  son. 

In  all  his  manuscripts,  now  lost  forever,  he 
reached  his  grandest  climax,  not  in  the  sunshine 
he  so  dearly  loved,  neither  in  the  birds,  nor  the 
dashing  woodland  rivers,  not  in  the  sweet  arbutus 
flowers  of  which  he  often  sang,  nor  in  the  silken 
web  of  youth,  much  as  he  adorned  it  in  verse,  but 
the  grand  climax  for  him  was  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  He  delighted  to  transfer  his  earthly 
vision  to  that  of  the  heavenly.  And  when  the 
pioneer  preachers,  Eldred,  Bayington,  Green,  Wat- 
kins,  Hewett  or  McKinley  came  with  their  inspir 
ing  personalities,  with  their  sacred  messages,  fer- 

157 


vent  prayers  and  indomitable  counsel,  combined 
with  learning  and  logic,  which  transcended  all 
others,  the  Poet  and  his  sister  Belle  sat  eagerly  at 
their  weary  feet  and  drank  from  the  fountain  of 
their  souls. 

Minnie,  not  wicked  nor  irreverent,  but  sensibly 
practical,  we  say,  would  often  rebuke  them  for 
their  sanguine  aspect  of  everything.  She  called 
the  Poet  a  drone  and  Belle  a  dreamer,  and  pitied 
a  world  made  up  of  such  sentimentalists,  whose 
idols  were  only  words,  and  whose  visions  van 
ished  in  vapors. 

The  camp  where  Nick  was  employed  near  the 
Ox-Bow-Bend  had  taken  on  a  new  cook.  He  was 
odd,  snappy  and  deceitful.  He  came  into  camp 
one  hot  muggy  night  wearing  an  old  overcoat, 
over  a  faded  pair  of  brown  bib  overalls,  had  an 
old  bent  dicer  on  his  pate;  his  red  hair  was  badly 
disheveled,  he  was  pickled  in  whiskey — you  could 
smell  booze  when  he  sweat.  On  his  bootleg  was 
a  red  stamp  which  advertised  a  popular  brand  of 
rum.  Through  Nick's  influence,  which  was  more 
out  of  sympathy  than  acquaintance,  he  secured  a 
position.  Withstanding  his  imperfections,  he  was 
a  splendid  cook;  it  would  not  do  to  write  about 
his  mixtures,  they  have  vanished  from  the  earth, 
and  be  contented  to  read  the  description  of  the 
cook  himself.  He  had  many  shadows  over  his 

158 


past  career,  but  this  was  not  ascertained  until 
he  had  been  hired  and  had  tickled  the  lads'  appe 
tites  till  they  were  satisfied  the  new  cook  had  no 
superiors. 

It  was  rumored  a  few  days  after  the  cook  came 
upon  the  job  that  he  was  a  friend  of  the  Black 
Wolf  and  that  this  undesirable  individual  was  to 
seek  employment  with  his  chum,  the  cook.  It  was 
more  than  a  rumor,  it  was  made  real  in  a  fort 
night,  the  Wolf  had  settled  at  Pierces  and  was 
given  charge  of  the  rollway  and  the  crew  that  kept 
space. 

Nick  was  a  general  favorite  in  this  camp,  drove 
the  big  grays,  a  large,  lengthy  span  of  percheron 
mares — the  best  \vheel  team  on  the  river.  He  was 
hauling  logs  from  the  highlands  to  the  rollway, 
about  a  mile;  the  hill  was  so  steep  that  he  had  to 
tie  clogs  to  the  wheel  axle  to  keep  the  horses 
from  being  run  down  by  the  big  wheels.  Nick  did 
not  relish  the  appearance  of  the  Wolf,  but  he  had 
no  fear  of  him,  kept  up  his  sunny  disposition  and 
continued  to  engage  the  fellows  during  the  even 
ing  hours  with  tales  and  wit,  for  which  he  was  so 
noted. 

"Tell  us  a  story,  Nick,"  asked  Ote  Hampdon, 
as  he  filled  up  his  briar  after  supper. 

"I'll  give  you  a  lecture  on  brains  instead;  if 
you  don't  mind,"  he  replied. 

159 


"Swede  Pete  has  written  a  book,"  he  gave  the 
flattering  title.  "A  pound  of  brains,"  chipped  in 
Price. 

"How  could  he,  he  didn't  have  a  pound?"  add 
ed  another. 

"Why,  you  lunk-head,  he  could  write  about  a 
pound  of  brains  if  he  only  had  an  ounce,  the 
same  as  Weaver  thought  he  was  rich  when  he 
only  had  a  hundred  dollars,  and  same  as  Brown 
thought  he  had  a  car  load  of  beer  when  he  only 
had  a  bottle,  and  that  was  on  the  inside,"  con 
tinued  Price. 

"Auger  for  a  story  from  Nick,  you  blab- 
mouths,"  cried  Furmand,  and  Nick  proceeded. 

"In  Indiana  there  lived  a  man  who  had  the 
heaviest  brain  ever  analyzed,  it  even  overweighed 
that  of  Daniel  O'ConnelPs  and  Napoleon's.  O'Con- 
nelPs  weighed  57  ounces  and  Napoleon's  weighed 
56.  This  man  in  the  Hoosier  state  was  a  common 
bricklayer,  poorly  educated  and  only  had  to  his 
brain  credit  a  prodigious  memory.  The  scaffold 
on  which  he  stood  laying  brick,  six  stories  high, 
broke  down,  he  fell  and  fractured  his  skull.  They 
took  him  to  the  morgue  and  the  doctors  bought 
him  for  experiment.  When  they  weighed  his 
brain  they  found  it  weighed  64  ounces,  a  full  half 
pound  more  than  the  man  who  at  the  age  of 
twenty-six,  by  the  use  of  his  mathematical  calcu- 

160 


lations  conquered  Europe.  And  think  of  It,  this 
common  bricklayer's  brain  weighed  seven  ounces 
more  than  the  brain  of  the  greatest  Irishman,  ;»t 


The  Broken  Wheels— Now  Cast  Asice- 


161 


least  since  St.  Patrick.  Fellows,  do  not  wiggle  and 
grow  restless  when  I  talk  of  brains,"  he  continued, 
as  the  restless  men  shifted  round  and  some 
dropped  out,  "I  can  always  tell  those  who  haven't 
any  brains  when  I  relate  this  story — they  wiggle 
and  twist  around  and  can't  wait  till  a  fellow's 
done." 

"By  hokey,  that's  a  good  un  on  ye  all,  ye  lousy 
louts,  if  Fs  Nick  ef  I  ever  found  an'  old  chaw  of 
'baccer  that  ye  spit  out,  I'd  kick  it  all  to  blazes 
to  git  even  on  ye,"  said  Ole  Blue,  as  he  kicked  off 
his  stags  and  climbed  the  three  tier  of  bunks  to 
bed. 

Nick  made  six  trips  daily  to  the  rollway.  The 
work  of  the  rollway  men  was  to  pull  away  the  slip 
skids  until  the  team  and  wheels  passed  even  up  to 
the  rollway,  then  to  put  them  back  under  the  load 
before  the  chain  was  unhitched  and  the  tongue 
let  back  in  the  air,  which  allowed  the  logs  to  drop 
on  the  skids.  The  Wolf  had  ten  pairs  of  big 
wheels  to  unload  and  some  drew  nearer  than 
others,  and  on  an  average  one  hundred  loads  were 
to  be  handled  daily.  He  had  five  men  besides 
himself  to  unload,  dump  in  and  keep  space. 

Thus  it  was  that  Nick  and  the  Wolf  were  again 
forced  to  work  shoulder  to  shoulder,  yet  they 
never  spoke,  while  they  had  to  at  times  roll  the 
same  log,  one  keeping  his  hold,  while  the  other 
took  a  lower  grip  with  his  peavey  on  the  same 
log. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  the  men  were  all  gone 
home,  every  teamster  had  turned  in  but  Nick;  he 

162 


had  on  his  last  load.  It  was  a  single  log  forty  feet 
long  and  thirty-six  inches  in  diameter  at  the  scale 
end. 

The  Wolf  put  the  slip  skids  under  the  front 
and  back  ends  as  the  team  stopped,  Nick  un 
hitched  the  chain  from  the  whiffle- tree,  unwound 
the  tie  chain  from  the  logs  which  was  wrapped 
around  the  tongue  and  the  logs  and  allowed  the 
big  tongue  to  fly  back  like  lightning  as  the  whole 
weight  of  the  log  was  upon  it.  It  struck  the  end 
of  the  log  within  six  inches  of  where  the  Wolf  was 
in  the  act  of  stepping  over  to  the  roll  way  side. 
Nick  had  his  back  to  the  Wolf  and  did  not  know 
that  he  was  there,  but  as  the  tongue  snapped  out 
of  his  hands  he  quickly  turned  and  instantly  gave 
the  big  wheel  a  sudden  kick,  which  geared  it 
slightly  around  and  the  tongue  missed  the  man  by 
the  margin  just  depicted. 

The  Wolf  was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  and  when 
Nick  wrapped  up  the  chains  and  started  the  team 
and  came  back  to  assist  in  rolling  the  log  to  the 
main  rollway,  where  it  could  be  easily  handled 
by  one  man,  the  Wolf  flung  in  his  hook  as  though 
nothing  had  happened,  and  in  silence  they  did 
their  work  as  usual. 


163 


CHAPTER  X. 

|T  WAS  a  cold  winter  night,  Silvershade 

I\\  was  thronged  with  a  multitude,  sweel 
JJ  children  were  darting  here  and  there 
like  minnows  in  a  meadow  brook,  the 
occasion  being  the  celebration  of  another  anni 
versary.  Songs,  music  and  stories  had  been  sung, 
played  and  related — experiences  of  chivalry  and 
valour  had  been  exchanged.  Lee  had  brought  to 
that  excellent  and  appreciative  audience  the 
strains  of  "Dixie  Land."  The  Poet  had  sung  fully 
a  dozen  songs  of  his  own  composition,  "The  Fore 
man  James  Monroe,"  "The  Flat  River  Girl," 
"The  Shantyman's  Life,"  "On  the  Bank  of  Manis- 
tce,"  and  Jimmy  Whallen,"  "The  Bob-tailed  Bays" 
and  other  well-known  and  oft  sung  songs.  When 
the  master  of  the  manor  touched  his  harp  chords, 
lifted  his  clear  voice  to  its  sweetest  tenor  and  sang 
"The  Last  Rose  of  Summer."  When  he  ended  this 
melody,  while  the  silence  was  absolute,  he  ex 
claimed,  "That  song  reminds  me  of  the  past." 
While  the  harp  leaned  gently  upon  his  bosom, 
and  his  eyes,  blue  as  the  summer  sea,  were  misty 
with  that  magic  moisture,  half  tears  and  half 
ecstasy,  he  began : 

"On  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  in  old  Hoboken, 
opposite  New  York,  early  in  the  present  century, 

164 


stood  a  grand  old  mansion,  there  were  seventeen 
occupants — father,  mother  and  fifteen  children. 
The  father  had  mastered  three  popular  arts  and 
was  known  as  the  'actor,  author  and  artist.'  He 
had  also  traveled  extensively  abroad  and  knew 
by  a  personal  contact  the  wilderness.  In  1804  he 
had  heen  chosen  the  Indian  interpreter  and  na~ 
Uonal  artist  in  the  historical  'Birch  bark  canoe  ex 
pedition.*  In  his  various  experiences  in  the  wilder 
ness  and  along  the  frontiers  he  had  painted  the 
portraits  and  sketched  the  memoirs  of  Red 
Jacket,  the  great  orator;  Black  Hawk,  the  wicked 
warrior;  Osceola,  the  chief  of  the  famous  Otta- 
was,  and  fifty  more  of  the  best-known  Indians  in 
North  America.  He  left  his  wife  and  children 
under  well  ordered  provisions;  crossed  the  At 
lantic  to  beg  permission  from  the  Virgin  Queen 
of  Great  Britain  to  publish  and  offer  for  sale  in 
the  English  Islands,  his  works,  which  he  entitled 
'The  American  Aboriginal  Portfolios.'  This  per 
mission  would  not  only  have  made  him  wealthy, 
but  would  have  established  his  undying  fame  as 
an  author  and  artist.  He  had  at  a  great  expense 
printed  a  single  copy  on  Rain-Row  Vellum  and 
had  bound  it  with  golden  lids,  and  initialed  it  as 
a  souvenir  for  the  permission  which  he  expected 
from  the  Queen.  But  she  withheld  her  signature, 
owing  to  the  influence  brought  to  bear  by  Lord 
Melbourne,  who  was  a  rival  of  the  young  Amer 
ican  artist,  and  had  also  sketched  many  of  the 
Indians  of  the  continent,  and  wished  to  have  ex 
clusive  rights  throughout  the  English  possessions. 

166 


A  lawsuit  resulted  and  continued  for  years.  While 
this  suit  was  pending,  the  artist  had  to  remain  in 
London.  The  wife  grew  tired  and  impatient 
without  her  husband's  company  and  assistance, 
and  her  complaints  were  negotiated  to  her  broth 
ers,  who  lived  in  the  Middle  West.  They  felt  too 
that  their  proud  and  beautiful  sister  had  been 
long  neglected;  they  came  to  Hoboken  and  took 
their  sister  almost  by  force,  and  all  her  children 
with  many  old  heirlooms,  back  to  their  home. 
It  was  ten  months  after  this  when  the  artist  lost 
in  his  suit,  shorn  of  his  ambitions,  and  beaten  in 
a  British  Court,  he  sailed  back  to  his  wife  and 
family,  more  dear  to  him  than  all  earthly  honors. 
Imagine  his  disappointment  when  he  found  dust, 
silence  and  cobwebs,  in  that  once  immaculate 
mansion,  instead  of  welcome,  love  and  laughter. 
The  artist  was  a  typical  New  Yorker  of  a  century 
ago,  and  when  he  learned  the  actions  of  his 
brothers-in-law  at  once  demanded  not  only  the 
return  of  his  wife  and  family,  but  an  apology  and 
indemnity  besides. 

"But  after  a  tedious  and  unsatisfactory  corre 
spondence,  the  unfortunate,  embarrassed,  if  not 
penitent  wife,  died  with  a  broken  heart.  Then 
the  artist  broke  under  this,  his  greatest  grief; 
she  had  fed  his  pride  and  fused  his  ambition,  fac 
ing  financial  disaster,  feeling  that  for  years  he 
had  been  a  victim  of  ill  fortune,  he  gave  up  and 
settled  down  to  the  monotony  of  a  portrait  painter. 

"The  youngest  son,  at  his  mother's  death,  was 
six  years  old.  His  aunt,  at  this  tender  age,  gave 

166 


him  his  worldly  possessions,  tied  in  a  red  ker 
chief,  and  ordered  him  to  shift  for  himself.  With 
various  experiences,  many  hardships  and  re 
bukes,  years  drag  by.  At  the  age  of  twelve  this 
unfortunate  reaches  the  city  of  Detroit,  deter 
mined  to  go  to  New  York  in  search  for  his  father. 

"There  was,  however,  one  difficulty  which  de 
layed  his  journey;  he  lacked  three  dollars  of  hav 
ing  enough  money.  While  seeking  means  to  earn 
the  required  sum,  he  crossed  Cadillac  Square, 
then  a  grove  of  trees;  to  his  surprise  and  delight, 
before  him,  in  the  path  so  well  beaten  and  often 
used,  lay  a  purse;  he  picked  it  up,  hastened  to  a 
covert,  opened  the  purse  and  found  exactly  three 
dollars  in  coin.  In  the  purse  was  a  note  which 
was  the  exact  duplicate  of  the  handwriting  of 
the  boy's  dead  mother,  and  all  the  eloquence  on 
earth  can  not  alter  his  views,  which  were  that  his 
angel  mother  dropped  that  purse  for  him,  and 
enclosed  the  note  wrhich  read — 

"There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  on  land  and 

on  sea 
That  watches  o'er  the  life  of  poor  Jack." 

"The  daily  papers  did  not  cover  the  details  of 
life  in  New  York  as  at  present,  consequently  there 
was  no  means  by  which  the  lad  could  ascertain 
the  whereabout  of  his  father.  He  was  confused 
by  the  crowds,  muddled  by  the  glaring  lamps, 
frightened  by  the  officers  and  naturally  became 
a  waif.  He  slept  at  the  old  Battery,  ate  what  he 
could  hustle,  sold  papers  and  almanacs,  and  got 
on  in  a  sad  fashion. 

167 


"After  a  long  stay  in  the  metropolis,  as  ho 
strolled  up  Broadway  he  was  attracted  by  a  sh6w 
window  decorated  with  beautiful  paintings.  As 
he  gazed  upon  them  with  artistic  instinct  and 
appreciation,  he  was  startled  when  he  saw  his 
father's  name  in  the  lower  right  hand  corner  of 
them  all.  He  hastened  to  the  merchant  and  asked 
him  where  the  artist  could  be  found.  He  was  in 
formed  that  at  eight  o'clock  the  following  morn 
ing  the  artist  would  come  to  this  store  to  make  a 
collection.  The  youth,  beaming  with  high  hopes, 
returned  to  the  Battery,  informed  the  Night 
Guard,  who  had  given  him  shelter,  and  spent  the 
remainder  of  the  day  telling  of  his  discovery  to 
the  waifs  he'  had  met.  The  next  morning  he 
arose  at  four  o'clock,  and  without  the  least 
thought  of  food,  washed  his  face  a  bit  cleaner 
than  usual,  brushed  his  hat  and  coat,  and  with 
his  boyish  fingers  tried  to  press  out  the  numer 
ous  wrinkles.  After  making  his  toilet  the  best 
he  knew,  he  took  his  stand  on  the  store  steps 
fully  two  hours  before  the  appointed  time.  How 
slowly  the  hours  dragged  by,  nervous  and  im 
patiently  he  waited;  he  could  not  remember  his 
father,  he  only  knew  him  by  hear-say — it  had 
been  seven  years  since  he  had  met  a  single  rela 
tive,  and  how  lonely  and  dejected  he  felt.  Five 
minuts  of  eight  he  looked  across  the  street  and 
saw  a  tall,  stately  gentleman,  wearing  a  silk  plug 
hat  and  carrying  a  gold  headed  cane,  turn  on 
the  cross  walk  and  made  straight  for  the  store. 
The  gentleman  passed  by,  all  but  brushing  his 

168 


doming;  Hie  youth  stepped  toward  him,  but 
the  gentleman  thinking  he  wanted  him  to  buy  a 
paper,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head 
and  started  up  the  steps;  the  youth,  overcome 
by  the  presence  of  the  finely  attired  and  digni 
fied  gentleman  and  with  the  overwhelming  joy 
that  this  was  his  father,  began  to  cry;  this  halted 
the  proud  New  Yorker,  he  turned  and  asked: 

"What  can  I  do  for  you  this  morning,  my 
boy?"  his  tones  were  sweet  and  musical,  his  atti 
tude  was  graceful  and  kind. 

"Did  you  paint  them  pictures?"  asked  the 
waif,  pointing  to  the  show  window. 

"I  did,  my  boy,  what  of  it?"  came  the  reply. 

"Then  you're  my — my — father,"  said  the  waif, 
breaking  into  a  sob. 

"The  man  turned  scarlet,  wildly  and  eagerly 
asked:  "Your  father,  my  God,  who  are  you?" 

"The  waif,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  now 
with  the  most  intense  excitement,  answered, 
"I'm  your  little  Wallie." 

"The  big  gentleman  stopped  down,  picked  up 
the  ragged  waif,  pressed  him  to  his  bosom,  while 
the  tears  ran  down  his  face  and  dropped  upon 
his  breadcloth  coat,  against  which  the  face  of 
the  ragged  waif  was  pressed  in  a  fatherly  em 
brace.  In  the  rear  office  of  that  store  this  father 
and  son  together  enjoyed  a  blessed  reunion.  In 
course  of  time,  through  the  persistence  of  the 
father,  this  son  was  graduated  from  College,  a 
School  of  Dramatic  Art,  and  a  Conservatory  of 
Music;  from  each  place  in  highest  honors.  Going 

169 


from  these  successive  triumphs  to  shine  as  a  star 
in  the  first  magnitude  on  the  American  Stage. 
The  first  year  of  absence,  his  father,  alone  and 
unattended,  paid  the  debt  of  nature.  His  broth 
ers  came  from  Philadelphia  and  laid  him  to 
rest  under  the  shades  of  beautiful  riverside;  his 
losses  were  over,  his  crosses  had  been  bravely 
borne — grief  had  found  her  own. 

"After  many  flattering  engagements  with  the 
leading  Dramatic  companies,  the  call  of  the  west 
captured  the  actor,  and  he  exchanged  forever 
the  mimic  stage  for  the  arena  of  reality. 

"The  actor's  ancestors  had  long  been  associated 
with  the  frontiers.  Their  records  run  backward 
to  the  medieval  ages.  They  came  from  the 
Prankish  Empire  early  in  the  Ninth  Century, 
were  vassal  and  shepherd  Kings  in  Wales  until 
1636,  when  they  departed  from  Dartmouth,  in 
their  own  vessel  for  America.  They  have  partici 
pated  in  every  American  war;  have  lifted  their 
voices  in  powerful  eloquence  to  inspire  patriot 
ism,  set  a  signature  to  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,  and  sealed  that  immortal  document 
with  their  own  blood.  They  have  laid  out  Na 
tional  boundaries,  and  blazed  trails  for  the 
hardy  pioneers.  One  of  them  with  less  than 
fifty  followers,  ascended  the  Big  Muddy  and  the 
distant  Yellowstone;  explored  the  Black,  Bare- 
paw,  Bitter-Root  and  Cascade  Mountains;  en 
tered  the  Jaw-Bone  Canyon  and  discovered  the 
Lolo  Pass.  With  their  Sioux,  Cheyenne,  Snake 
and  Umpqua  guides  they  descended  the  mighty 

170 


Columbia,  the  father  of  western  waters,  and 
were  halted  by  the  great  and  eternal  sea.  The 
last  survivor  of  this  famous  family  has  crossed 
the  American  Desert  and  braved  the  Apache 
Pass;  challenged  by  savage  men,  wild  beasts,  hot 
sands,  dagger  cactus  and  poison  reptiles,  as 
many  times  as  there  are  fingers  on  his  hands. 
Has  hunted  with  Carson,  and  trapped  with 
Thomas  Eddy;  has  studied  with  Gerard,  and 
acted  with  Edwin  Forrest;  but  now  the  woods 
have  beguiled  the  rover  and  the  proofs  of  this 
romantic  tale  look  down  upon  you  from  the 
fair  faces  upon  these  walls;  they  charm  you 
through  the  accomplishments  of  your  neighbor 
and  shall  ever  lull  you  with  music  sublime  from 
the  soul  of  this  Victoria  Harp." 

The  Master  had  unfolded  his  own  history. 
The  Company,  speechless  and  amazed,  rode  to 
their  respective  dwellings;  but  never  forgot  the 
tale  told  that  winter  night. 


171 


CHAPTER  XI. 

JE  must  drop  the  curtain  over  this  wood 
land  reverie  and  lift  the  veil  of  future 
mystery.  The  scenes  are  dark  and  por 
tentous,  we  are  saddened  while  we 
gaze. 

The  Black  Wolf  was  desperately  in  love  with 
Sister  Amelia,  and  purposed  in  his  heart  to  have 
her  for  his  own,  no  matter  what  it  might  cost  him 
self  or  anybody  else.  He  had  repeatedly  gone  to 
the  hospital  to  accomplish  his  design.  He  had  un 
folded  to  Amelia  Nick's  flirtations  with  Minnie 
and  charged  him  with  all  the  drunkeness  his 
brother  Max  had  committed.  The  Nun  discour 
aged  him  from  making  these  remarks  and  the 
Wolf  discovered  that  she  held  Nick  in  fondest 
memory;  he  then  determined  anew  to  silence 
Nick  and  win  the  Nun.  The  cook  gave  him  all 
the  information  necessary,  as  he  kept  strict  track 
and  close  account  of  all  that  Nick  said  and  did. 

All  mails  were  forbidden  at  the  hospital  to 
the  Nuns,  and  consequently  none  of  Nick's  notes 
ever  reached  the  mark.  They  were  carefully 
sealed  forever  and  unopened. 

As  the  years  slipped  by  Nick  would  sometimes 
feel  prompted  to  go  and  beg  Amelia  to  forswear 
her  former  vow  and  be  his  bride.  But  again  would 

172 


his  manhood  forbid,  and  still  he  remained  silent. 
Belle  was  his  secret  counsel  and  they  both  agreed 
that  his  sacrifice  was  not  greater  than  her  service, 
so  argument,  and  impulse  would  not  permit  his' 
declaration  of  love  unfeigned. 

In  the  palmy  days  of  Silvershade  there  came 
upon  the  scene  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  as  a 
bolt  of  lightning  from  a  cloudless  sky,  a  beautiful 
and  attractive  woman.  She  came  from  the  city, 
was  gowned  elegantly,  was  shy  and  winsome,  a 
blonde  of  super-beauty.  At  once  she  impressed 
her  personality  upon  the  community  life.  She 
was  known  as  Madame  Corbett.  There  was  no 
small  comment  regarding  this  charming  person 
age.  They  wondered  why  she  came,  who  wras  re 
sponsible  and  how  long  she  would  remain.  She 
introduced  many  new  fads  into  the  rural  life.  She 
set  a  craze  for  wealth,  finery  and  honors.  She  was 
jealous,  scoffed  Christianity,  praised  pride,  was 
ultra-modern,  advocated  suffrage  and  encouraged 
Life  Insurance. 

Like  in  kind  is  never  single  very  long  and  be 
fore  autumn  there  came  to  these  hitherto  peaceful 
haunts,  a  man  who  in  outward  show  and  inward 
principle  was  Corbett's  second. 

His  name  was  Archie  Cain,  he  was  tall  and 
handsome,  well  reared  and  bore  a  striking  person 
ality.  His  dress  and  manner  were  distinguished; 
he  had  a  high  intelligent  forehead  and  large  ex 
pressive  brown  eyes.  He  was  kind  to  every  one, 
was  manly  by  nature  and  loved  his  associates. 

Madame  Corbett  seemed  to  influence  Cain  in 

173 


every  action.  At  once  they  became  friends.  They 
made  their  home  at  a  backwoods  rendezvous  that 
had  little  or  no  reputation  and  was  named  Lost 
Cabin.  When  this  isolated  resort  was  dedicated 
by  the  proprietor  Rex  Mills,  he  said,  "I  am  going 
to  make  it  just  as  near  h--l  as  I  know  how,"  and, 
judging  from  results,  he  must  have  had  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  that  infernal  region. 

Lost  Cabin  was  about  a  dozen  miles  from  Sil- 
vershade.  The  first  half  was  an  old  by-way  and 
the  last  half  was  circuitous  paths,  no  two  running 
in  the  same  direction  nor  converging  at  any  single 
point.  The  west,  south  and  north  sides  of  Lost 
Cabin  were  absolutely  unapproachable.  These 
sides  were  protected  by  a  series  of  precipitous  and 
broken  ravines,  matted  with  wild  Haw,  and  prickly 
ash,  which  could  not  be  penetrated  by  animal  kind 
other  than  wild  beasts,  capable  of  slipping  through 
the  thorny  perforations  of  this  impregnable  and 
impassable  hedge.  This  great  barrier  of  nature 
stretched  out  for  miles  on  the  three  sides  men 
tioned  above,  and  in  order  to  find  the  approach  to 
the  rendezvous  it  was  necessary  to  pass  the  place 
four  or  five  miles,  when  as  one  looked  backward, 
it  stood  plainly  in  view  and  seemed  easy  to  reach, 
but  there  were  a  number  of  mysterious  ravines 
which  wound  around  in  a  very  deceiving  manner, 
these  ravines  were  covered  with  a  thick  \vood;  the 
earth  was  a  peculiar  rock  covered  a  foot  thick  with 
moss  and  as  soon  as  one  passed  by  their  tracks 
were  not  discernable,  for  as  soon  as  the  foot  was 
lifted  the  moss  came  back  to  its  former  position, 

174 


like  walking  across  a  mattress  filled  with  feathers. 
Very  often  would  hunters,  surveyors,  timber  cuis- 
ers  and  others  attempt  to  find  ingress,  only  to  be 
deceived.  They  wrould  gain  a  position  which  ap 
peared  to  be  the  true  location  from  the  pre-view 
they  had  taken  as  they  saw  it  from  a  distance,  but 
alas  no  sign  of  the  mysterious  cabin  was  in  sight. 

So  successful  was  the  cunning  Mills  in  choos 
ing  the  location  for  Lost  Cabin  that  for  many 
years  over  half  of  the  population  that  settled  along 
the  Manistee  and  her  tributaries,  doubted  if  a 
real  Lost  Cabin  ever  existed;  but  it  did  as  we  shall 
see  presently. 

To  add  horror  to  mystery  was  the  next  move 
of  this  scurvy  illegal  landlord.  He  possessed  two 
great  dogs  of  prodigious  size;  these  beasts  were 
half  Mastiff  and  half  Siberian  Stag  Hound.  Mills, 
a  canine  prodigy,  tied  the  mother  hound  alone  in 
the  woods  wrhere  he  discovered  the  den  of  a  huge 
blue-wolf,  and  following  this  crafty  experience  a 
pair  of  peculiar  pups  grew  up  to  be  the  most  dan 
gerous  and  ravenous  of  the  entire  dog  family. 
Their  first  act  was  to  kill  their  mother,  this  taste 
of  blood  was  an  incentive  and  forever  afterward 
these  brute  beasts  thirsted  for  the  ruddy  drops  of 
life. 

Not  a  single  person  ever  crossed  the  threshold 
of  Lost  Cabin  except  those  who  were  met  at  the 
beginning  of  the  east  front  ravines  and  were 
guided  and  protected  until  the  huge  beech  bar 
dropped  behind  them  and  the  guide,  shutting  out 
the  beasts  that  snarled,  howled  and  raved  to  tear 

175 


the  flesh  of  every  intruder.  The  story  runs  that 
but  one  woman  ever  entered  this  wretched  joint, 
and  that  was  the  fascinating  Madame  Corbett. 

There  was  but  one  approach  to  this  base  dive, 
even  after  one  was  fortunate  enough  to  gain  the 
proper  location,  and  that  was  upon  a  round  log 
which  had  fallen  over  a  deep  ravine.  This  log 
was  eighty  feet  in  length  and  the  ravine  was  over 
two  hundred  feet  deep  and  was  strewn  with  boul 
ders  and  dead  timber  stretching  along  like  skele 
tons  of  great  fish  and  these  hideous  objects  below 
made  the  dangerous  walk  the  more  difficult. 

The  landlord,  Rex  Mills,  was  a  degenerate,  a 
typical  sex-pervert,  combined  with  dangerous  ele 
ments  in  his  half  animal  and  half  human  compo 
sition.  He  was  small  and  slim,  had  a  long  beard 
which  masked  his  peeked  chin:  his  disheveled 
hair  hung  in  ropy  locks,  he  had  small  snaky  optics 
which  had  won  for  him  the  name  of  Hawk-Eye. 

The  mess  pot  was  hanging  on  the  crane  at  Lost 
Cabin,  the  mush  was  boiling  in  bulls-eye  blubbers, 
five  plates  were  laid  at  the  mystic  board,  the  maple 
syrup  had  been  set  on  in  generous  quantities. 
Three  raps  jarred  the  huge  door,  evidently  made 
with  a  heavy  tool  or  timber,  the  landlord  under 
stood  these  signs  and  threw  back  the,  bar,  lifted 
the  home-made  latch  and  opened  the  portal,  the 
guide,  a  lank,  agile  man,  with  his  face  covered 
with  a  mask,  made  from  a  red  pocket  handker 
chief,  ushered  in  the  cook,  Wolf,  Cain  and 
Madame  Corbett. 

The   supper  was   served   and   garnished   with 

176 


green  corn  and  potatoes  roasted  in  the  fire. 
After  this  backwoods  banquet  the  jug  was  passed, 
all  drank  heavily.  Time  and  again  the  jug  went 
round  until  the  revelry  became  loud  and  bois 
terous,  the  leud  program  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
it  was  nearing  midnight,  and  every  intruder 
that  ever  found  ingress  to  Lost  Cabin  must  also 
seek  egress  before  the  first  herald  of  dawn. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  situation?"  asked 
Hawk-eye,  as  the  revelers  quieted  down  for  a 
moment. 

"Fine,"  said  Cain,  "I  have  discovered  that 
the}'  are  a  lot  of  rusty  rubes  and  wouldn't  tumble 
if  a  brick  block  fell  on  them." 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  the  Wolf.  "I  have  dis 
covered  that  there  is  some  warm  bright  blood  in 
this  neck  of  the  woods.  That  young  lad  known 
as  Black  Beaver,  is  as  keen  as  a  briar,  fearless 
as  a  lion,  can  hear  the  grass  grow  and  can  smell 
the  shadc-w  of  a  louse." 

"Oh,  \es!  But  he's  a  native;  he  got  his  name 
from  old  Shoffnegon,  the  Chippewa  chief,  be 
cause  he  caught  the  only  black  beaver  ever 
known  in  these  parts,  and  we  need  have  no  fear 
of  his  suspicions,"  added  Corbett. 

"Sartcn,  easy  slipin',  the  world  by  the  handle 
and  a  down-hill  pull,"  chipped  in  the  cook. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  added  Corbett,  "no  piking 
we  are  mammoth  plungers,  there  are  t^rec  Tools 
born  every  minute  and  these  parts  have  their 
share." 

"How    about   Xick;    who'll    handle   him?     He 

177 


gfands  for  all  the  questions  in  the  farm  and 
woods  belt.  His  words  are  law,  his  judgment 
is  never  doubted  and  he's  next,"  continued  the 
Black  Wolf. 

There  was  some  misgiving  as  to  the  pre-ar 
ranged  scheme  going  through,  when  Madame 
Corbett  mounted  a  chair,  lifting  her  fair  arm 
high  over  her  head,  began: 

"God  sent  me  to  be  a  scourge,  to  purge 
society,  to  worship  wealth,  to  force  ambition, 
ignorant  mossbacks  must  pay  for  their  indolence, 
the  game  is  at  hand,  let's  spring  the  trap  and 
make  the  catch.  I  have  the  hand  of  a  woman, 
but  the  heart  of  a  man.  Who  dares  cast  the 
die  and  do  as  we  have  proposed?" 

Every  man  arose  and  pledged  his  support. 

"I  will  go  the  limit  with  you,"  added  the 
Wolf,  "if  you  will  grant  my  only  request." 

"What  is  your  request?  Name  it  quickly," 
said  Corbett. 

"To  win  the  girl  that  wears  the  white  veil." 

"It  shall  be  done,  so  help  me  God,"  said  Cain 
and  Corbett  both  in  the  same  breath. 

"And  what  is  your  quest?"  Cain  said  as  he 
addressed  the  cook. 

"My  quest  is  that  of  my  friend  the  Wolf,"  he 
answered. 

Madame  Corbett  then  turned  to  Cain  and 
said:  "You  mind  your  biz  and  I  will  manage 
the  pudding." 

"Where  do  I  shine?"  asked  Hawk-eye. 

"You,"   said   Corbett,   "will    furnish   the   food 

178 


and  the  drinks,  cover  the  tracks,  cut  the  pigeon 
\ving,  come  in  on  the  alibi  and  be  accommodat 
ing." 

"And  you,  Wolf  and  Cook,  mind  your  ps 
and  qs,  be  mum  as  toads,  tight  as  ticks,  ignorant 
as  asses,  think  lots,  say  little — do  you  lumber 
lice  understand?" 

The  two  accomplices  nodded  their  consent  in 
drunken  stupor  and  grinned  in  miscomprehen 
sion  of  her  meaning. 

Again  the  jug  was  passed.  Madam  Corbett 
poured  only  a  few  drops  into  the  thick  cup  of 
giant-ware,  gazed  wildly  at  it,  dizzy  and  enraged, 
putting  the  cup  to  her  lips  once  red,  now  pale 
with  rage  and  resolutions,  she  touched  the  liquor 
with  her  fevered  tongue  and  drew  back  as  if 
stung  by  a  viper.  The  cook,  the  Wolf  and 
Archie  Cain  filled  their  cups  flowing  full,  then 
drank  and  filled  them  and  drank  again  of  that 
red  ruin.  They  threw  back  the  beechen  bar  and 
silently  and  stealthily  passed  out  into  the  dark 
still  solitude. 

The  Black  Wolf  had  lost  in  the  game  of  life. 
He  ruined  his  professional  career  by  drink, 
blocked  his  advance  by  subterfuge,  and  added 
to  his  downfall  by  the  choice  of  bad  companions. 
He  resolved  in  this  midnight  conspiracy  to  cast 
the  last  red  die  of  life,  to  win  in  love's  hot 
battle  With  him  it  was  now  or  never.  On 
previous  meetings  he  had  pressed  the  question 
to  Amelia,  had  demanded  a  hasty  reply,  but 
adroitly,  if  unwisely,  she  evaded  the  question, 

179 


not  positive  in  her  denials,  which  left  a  fragment 
of  hope  to  illuminate  his  dark  heart.  He  knew 
full  well  the  stimulant  that  delayed  his  all- 
important  answer  was  Nick.  If  he  was  out  of  the 
way,  all  would  be  well.  He  also  knew  how  Cain 
and  Corbett.  hungered  for  gold  and  their  lure 
for  wealth,  and  his  love  for  Amelia  enlisted 
him  as  their  servant. 

Madam  Corbett  and  Archie  Cain  cared  noth 
ing  at  all  for  the  love  affair  of  Nick  and  the 
Black  Wolf;  but  at  all  events  they  must  hold  the 
Wolf  for  a  tool,  so  they  coddled  him  for  silence 
and  service. 

Nick's  troubles  began  to  wear  upon  his  phys 
ique,  and  to  become  visible  in  the  face  once  free 
from  care  and  sorrow.  Love's  tedious  delay 
and  Max  with  his  drink  and  diabolical  attitude 
became  painful.  He  had  won  man}7  warm  hearts, 
enjoyed  the  society  of  the  settlement,  but  fortune 
now  began  to  frown  upon  her  favorite.  His 
parents  had  died  and  Max  was  lost  in  dissipa 
tion.  Are  we  experienced  in  the  rough  rock  of 
manhood?  Do  wo  knew  the  finished  product 
of  manual  labor?  Do  we  know  that  it  breaks 
hearts  as  well  as  backs?  All  who  perform  the 
functions  of  those  laborious  tasks  were  not 
ordered  by  nature.  Many,  because  of  ill-born 
circumstances,  much  to  their  regret  were  driven 
to  these  menial  tasks  to  reap  the  last  full  meas 
ure  of  dissipation.  Our  American  prosperity 
has  produced  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  men 
whom  we  call  tramps.  The  pine  harvest  has  also 

180 


left  its  fatal  brand  upon  noble  brows  moulded 
for  the  kiss  of  God.  Many  a  noble  fellow  has 
spit  his  prayers  in  the  cog-wheels  of  graft  forged 
by  human  selfishness  instead  of  whispering  them 
to  Heaven.  They  invested  muscle  and  drew  at 
last  from  that  bogus  bank,  weariness  of  the  flesh, 
hopes  deferred  and  talents  blighted  forever.  One 
dollar  a  day,  the  average  pay  received,  would 
foot  up  to  $9,550.00,  allowing  a  man  could  work 
thirty  years  without  an  accident.  Is  that  all  life 
is  worth  on  earth?  Thus  they  reasoned,  and  can 
we  blame  them?  God  forbid;  and  who  is  to  be 
blamed?  Nobody  that  we  know  of,  neither 
individual  nor  collective;  it  is  one  of  those 
broken  links  in  the  chain  of  our  civilization, 
which,  if  supplied,  would  usher  in  the  golden 
age  of  mortal  perfection. 

One  by  one  came  Nick's  disappointments,  the 
deed  to  his  pinery  was  defective,  by  sharks  it 
was  contested,  and  after  a  long  trial,  which 
greatly  vexed  all  concerned,  the  suit  was  lost 
and  Nick  was  as  poor  again  as  when  he  landed 
at  Ellis  Island  a  score  of  years  before. 

While  Cain  and  Corbett  were  visiting  at  Idle- 
hour,  Cain  and  Mazie  were  suddenly  taken  ill. 
They  were  taken  with  a  pain  in  the  head,  began 
vomiting  violently  and  went  into  spasms,  and 
before  aid  could  be  had  they  both  passed  away. 
The  father  and  mother  of  Mazie  were  frantic, 
and  Madame  Corbett  could  not  control  her  grief, 
she  walked  the  floor  incessantly,  raved  and  wept 
like  a  maniac;  and  during  an  outburst  of  grief 

181 


she  was  heard  to  exclaim,  "Oh,  my  beloved  hus 
band!" 

This  shocking  gush  of  grief  began  to  unveil 
the  mystery.  For  many  months  the  settlers  had 
wondered  at  their  intimacy,  and  not  a  few  had 
blamed  them  for  their  indiscreet  conduct,  but 
now  every  one  pitied  the  bereaved  woman  and 
did  their  utmost  to  assuage  her  tears. 

Cain  carried  a  liberal  life  insurance  of 
$10,000.00  running  to  his  wife,  whom  the  com 
munity  knew  as  Madam  Corbett,  but  named  as 
beneficiary  in  the  policy,  Lucile  B.  Knight. 

After  Corbett  had  drawn  the  amount  in  full 
of  Cain's  policy,  she  retired  from  the  scenes  of 
rural  tragedy  and  returned  to  the  city  from 
where  she  came  at  first  to  the  Manistee. 

The  funeral  of  Miss  Mazie  was  sad  indeed. 
Eldred,  the  Methodist  minister,  came  eighty  miles 
to  preside  at  her  interment.  It  was  the  lot  of 
the  poet  to  write  the  mournful  incident  to  her 
lover  in  Nebraska.  And  this  day  her  poor  old 
Jim  lives  the  life  of  a  hermit  amid  the  Big  Horn 
Mountains  by  the  flow  of  the  tiny  Rosebud,  iso 
lated  from  the  world  in  memory  of  her. 

These  sorrows  deferred  Nick's  intended  visit 
to  the  lumber  metropolis  to  visit  the  hospital. 
It  was  a  spring  morning  and  ten  years  had 
elapsed  since  he  left  the  hospital.  Now  he  stands 
again,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  rings  the  Spanish 
bell,  and  waits,  expecting  to  see  the  fair  face  of 
Amelia.  The  door  opened  softly  and  the  Mother 
Superior,  sweet  and  graceful  as  ever,  greeted 

182 


the  old-lime  patient.  When  an  opportune  time 
presented  itself,  Nick  inquired  about  Amelia, 
and  the  Mother  said  in  modulated  tones: 

"She  has  donned  the  black  veil  and  taken  a 
ward  in  the  West" 

Nick  gasped,  looked  strangely  from  place  to 
place,  things  grew  dark  and  afar  off  and  finally 
he  forgot  everything.  When  he  became  con 
scious,  the  sweet  Mother  sat  by  his  side,  fanning 
his  forehead. 

He  murmured,  "Mother,  I  loved  Amelia." 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"Did  she  ever  know  it,  Mother?"   he   asked. 

She  nodded  in  assent. 

"Mother,"  he  continued,  "I  love  the  Church. 
The  Master  gave  his  rich  young  life  for  it,  and 
I  have  given  my  love.  Because  he  gave  his  life, 
I  knelt  at  her  chancel  in  Dublin  by  my  mother's 
side  and  pledged  my  faith.  I  have  kept  that 
faith." 

The  Mother  touched  her  milk  white  fingers 
to  her  lips  and  made  upon  his  bosom  and  brow 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  Nick  arose  from  the  new 
baptism  and  started  for  the  door.  He  staggered 
a  bit  with  weakness;  she  pressed  his  calloused 
hand  and  kissed  his  sunburnt  cheek,  brown  as 
oak  leaves  in  October.  Oh!  could  Amelia  console 
him!  but  she  never  did  in  life's  high  noon.  He 
sighed,  "Farewell,  Mother,"  crossed  himself, 
bowed  to  the  crucifix,  and  departed. 


183 


CHAPTER  XII. 

;ELLO,    Nick!      Back    again,    are    you? 

nVT  Welcome  to  the  woods,"  were  the 
J|  wholesome  words  which  greeted  the 
shantyman  who  had  long  been  absent 
from  the  pinery. 

"How  are  you  all,  and  how's  everything?" 
asked  Nick. 

"Lots  doing  since  you  left,  the  Wolf  and  the 
cook  got  the  bounce  for  getting  too  thick  with 
Mills  and  have  gone  over  to  Peter's  camp  to 
work.  The  Osceola  gang  of  counterfeiters  and 
trainrobbers  have  been  seen  in  these  parts,  and 
it  is  reported  that  Hillbourn  and  Smalleys  have 
made  a  visit  to  Lost  Cabin.  Madam  Corbett  is 
back  again,  staying  over  at  Silvershade,  dressed 
like  a  peacock;  and  the  young  feller  you  used 
to  hunt  writh,  Black  Beaver,  has  skipped  the 
country  with  Shoffnegon.  It  was  reported  that 
he  went  to  Trout  Lake  with  the  old  chief  and 
was  transferred  to  Long  Knife  and  this  bad 
Indian  has  taken  him  to  Fort  Collins,  Colorado." 

"Well  thar,  old  pard,"  came  the  salutation 
from  Havelin,  "we're  goin  to  have  a  little  pro 
gram  tonight.  We'll  make  it  a  bit  extra  in  honor 
of  your  return." 

"Yes,"  added  Weaver,  "we  don't  have  to  douse 

184 


the  glim  tonight  till  ten  o'clock,  and  the  curtain 
for  the  performance  rises  at  eight." 

Order  was  maintained  at  the  appointed  hour, 
the  benches  hustled  into  rows  while  fifteen  or 
twenty  wrestled  like  unmanageable  school  boys, 
For  what  they  called  the  baldheaded  row.  And 


The  Cook 

185 


the  remainder  of  the  men  gathered  in  groups, 
smoking  cob  and  clay  pipes,  chewing  Peerless 
and  Plug  Nymrod. 

The  first  on  the  program  was  a  tall  knocked- 
kneed,  raw-boned,  lantern-jawed  specimen  of 
the  backwoods;  when  his  name  was  read  for  a 
speech,  he  very  bashfully  gathered  up  his  long 
legs,  pulled  in  his  prodigious  feet  from  the  dif 
ferent  corners  of  the  room  whither  they  had 
strayed,  unfolded  his  arms  like  a  jack-knife, 
arose  to  his  full  height,  his  cap  all  but  touched 
the  collar  beams  which  were  seven  feet  above  the 
floor. 

"I  don't  speel  much,"  he  began.  "I  haven't 
the  gift  of  gab,  but  I  hev  traveled  lots  and  niver 
had  sech  experiences  es  I  hev  here.  I  came  from 
Pennsylvania  afoot  and  niver  told  the  truth  onct 
on  the  way.  I  used  to  be  a  tanbark  spudder 
thar,  and  I  rode  the  river  too;  I  settled  over 
here  near  an  Irishman  named  Shine,  'tween  us 
a  login  road  runs,  and  it's  saved  our  lives  many 
times;  he  daren't  cross  it  nur  I  neither." 

"I  had  a  flock  of  cheekens.  Onct  after  we  got 
to  bed  I  heard  a  hen  squak;  I  told  Jeannette  to 
git  up  and  light  the  lantern,  for  there  wuz  some 
animal  in  the  hen  roost  under  the  porch.  She 
hurried  and  so  did  I,  we  bumped  together  when 
we  met  comin  from  different  directions  around 
the  house  to  the  porch;  I  slipped  the  board 
we  used  for  a  door  aside,  and  crawled  under, 
after  me  came  Jeannette.  She  was  a  small  bony 
woman,  her  feet  is  the  biggest  part  of  her;  she 

186 


held  the  lantern  and  with  the  brum  for  a  war 
club  I  was  prepared.  Es  I  looked  around  I  saw 
a  big  mink  that  hed  gist  let  go  a  hen,  and  saw 
ten  or  twelve  dead  uns  layin  on  the  groun.  The 
first  time  I  struck  I  kiled  a  hen,  the  next  time 
I  killed  a  ruster,  the  third  time  I  hit  Jeannette, 
and  the  next  time  I  broke  the  lantern — then  I 
got  mad  and  rained  blows  about  fifty  a  second, 
I  knocked  down  the  prop  that  held  the  door  up 
and  the  dom  mink  jumped  out  and  escaped;  I 
had  killed  a  hen,  my  ruster,  broke  the  lantern, 
wounded  Jeannette  and  spiled  the  brum. 

"I'm  the  gink  you-ve  hearin  of  who  packed 
the  two  bushels  of  seed  taters  twelve  hours  'out 
settin  em  down;  I  held  em  on  me  back  while  I 
swilled  down  twelve  quarts  of  silver  foam  at 
Smith's,  yes  you'll  hear  all  manner  of  things 
'bout  me. 

"I  hed  a  sack  of  flour,  'twas  a  hundred 
pounder;  I  started  for  hum,  'twas  four  miles;  I 
was  a  leetle  on  the  'posite  side  of  sobri'ty.  I 
stepped  on  a  mushroom  and  slipped  down  and 
bumped  my  top-end  against  a  pine  stump  like 
a  Bull  tractor  in  a  headon  collision.  It  broke 
the  flour  sack,  bein  only  paper;  when  I  rounded 
Baker's  hill,  the  breeze  blew  perty  stiff  and  the 
flour  blew  all  over  me;  then  it  began  to  rain 
and  I  wuz  lookin  like  a  big  wrinkled  loaf  of 
salt-risen  bread  when  I  got  hum. 

"My  neeber  is  a  Catlic,  you  know  their  toe- 
lickers;  he  sez  tha  Priests  better  in  us  fellers, 
cause  they  drink  alone  and  say  their  prayers 

187 


afterward  but  I  wouldn't  give  him  much  fur 
his  god,  fur  he  don't  protect  iin.  He's  'fraid  t* 
cross  the  road  from  us,  two  trees  rub  together 
and  make  a  squeakin  noise — I  told  im  that  was 
a  cat-a-mount,  and  now  he  niver  goes  out  after 
dark.  He  carries  a  pistol  loaded  to  the  muzzle 
and  takes  his  lantern  before  dark  and  does  his 
chores  early  and  comes  in  and  nails  up  the  door 
fur  the  night. 

"A  man  I  knowed  onct  hed  a  cancer  on  his 
lip  and  he  persisted  in  runnin  a  meat  market. 
Now  seech  a  feller  orter  to  know  better.  I  pat 
ronized  im  after  I  got  mi  back  pension,  I  bought 
a  chunk  of  pork,  Jeannette  put  on  to  fry.  The 
dog  was  sleepin  in  the  kitchen,  the  door  was 
opened  for  suthin  while  the  pork  fried,  and  he 
slid  out  like  a  skyrocket,  all  I  could  see  wuz 
sand  and  gravel  stones  flyin  after  im  as  he  shot 
southward;  I  soon  discovered  what  ailed  im,  the 
pork  was  so  strong  and  smelled  so  male-like 
thet  he  left  the  state.  I  seized  the  half-fried 
meat,  took  it  with  me  which  wuz  worse  en  small 
pox;  I  boarded  the  'spress  train  and  headed  im 
off  next  day  in  Indiana.  He  turned  his  beat 
when  he  got  another  whiff  of  that  bore-belly; 
when  I  got  hum  he  was  there  but  his  feet  were 
terrible  sore  from  the  run.  I  told  the  incident 
and  the  market  had  to  close  fur  lack  of  biz. 

"I'm  proud  cause  I  cum  from  Pennsylvania." 
With    these   rude,    but    original,    tales    he    sat 
down  while   the  men   cheered  like  rooters   at   a 
ball  game. 

188 


The  next  was  a  mock  trial.  An  ax  had  been 
left  lying  across  a  log  and  the  sawyers  had  fallen 
a  tree  which  happened  to  hit  the  helve,  which 
sent  the  ax  flying  like  a  projectile  shot  from  a 
catapulp.  The  swamper,  Harvey  Rial,  had  care 
lessly  left  the  tool  in  this  manner  and  when  it 
lit  it  came  nearly  hitting  Ferguson,  the  teamster; 
so  they  tried  Rial  in  public  and  sentenced  him 
io  six  months  in  Canada  with  a  dull  ax,  or  three 
weeks  in  a  soup  house  with  a  muzzle  on. 

O'Connor  was  to  bat  and  Blissby  on  deck — 
O'Connor  was  to  relate  what  he  knew  to  be  true. 

"Me  niber,"  he  began,  "was  buildin  a  stye 
for  his  pig.  when  one  of  the  little  girls  came 
running  to  him  and  said,  'Pan,  Johnie's  dying,' 
my  Guid,  I  dropt  me  log  and  killed  me  pig,  it 
was  rubin  on  me  shin,  'twas  bothered  with 
skurby;  I  run  to  the  'house  and  there  stood  the 
ole  lady  and  thare  sat  Johnie,  both  lukin  in  the 
coot  Johnie  had  made  in  his  foot  with  the  ax. 
Ther're  both  timid  and  azy  to  scare,  when  they 
saw  me  they  both  droped  over  backward  stiff 
as  two  sticks.  I  toted  em  to  the  huse,  put  em 
abed,  and  doused  a  half  bushel  of  ice  water  on 
em  to  bring  em  too. 

"Nate,  me  niber,  was  crossin  over  Dick's  land 
when  Dick  up  and  denied  him.  There  was  a 
brush  fence  'tween  em.  After  hearin  a  fuse  fur 
a  long  toime  I  hiked  up  nearder  and  be  golly 
thar  they  stood,  one  on  the  off  side  and  tother 
on  the  nigh  side  of  the  brush  fence;  one  had  a 
knife  and  tother  had  a  ax,  and  the  one  with  the 

189 


ax  said,  "Come  aver  here  and  I'll  chop  off  yer 
leg  and  leave  ye  hoppin  on  one  fork,"  and  totlier 
who  had  the  knife  said,  "Will  ye,  ye  hellyun? 
Come  over  here  and  I'll  cut  tin  tom-cats  out  of 
ye,  ye  bum  sozzler." 

"Blissby  up,"  called  the  platform  superin 
tendent. 

"I  hav  the  biggest  'orse  in  Traverse  County, 
when  I  got  er  home  and  led  er  in  the  barn  1 
could  hardly  git  out  the  barn  was  so  full;  when 
I  came  frum  Montana  I  stopped  for  a  spree  in 
Kalamazoo,  I  bed  so  much  money  that  the  police 
wouldn't  'rest  me;  I  showed  them  over  eighty 
dollars. 

"Blissby,"  interrupted  Dowen,  "tell  us  about 
the  pigs,  we  don't  want  that  rabbit  hash  you're 
warming  over." 

"Perzactly,  yer  honor,"  said  Blissby.  "Speak 
ing  of  pigs,"  as  he  said  this  he  dumped  out  his 
quid  and  rolled  in  another  one  big  enough  to 
dam  a  mill  race  and  repeated — 

"Yas,  speakin  of  pigs,  when  I  cum  home  from 
Jam  One  I  had  money,  and  it  waren't  white 
bourses  nither.  Dad  said  Drummonds  had  two 
pigs  fur  sale  and  so  I  shouldered  a  coffee  sack 
and  set  out  fur  his  place  five  miles  west;  when 
I  got  there  I  seen  the  pigs  running  roun  on  the 
pole  fence  like  red  squirrels.  The  school-mam, 
Mrs.  Drummonds  and  me  run  em  down;  I  paid 
four  dollars  for  two,  dropped  em  in  the  bag  and 
went  home.  My  four  sisters  and  five  brothers 
organized  to  fatten  these  slim  jack-knives.  They 

190 


picked  white  oak  acorns  for  miles  around  the 
house,  the  white  oak  acorns  are  sweeter  than 
red  oak,  then  they  boiled  em  up,  shelled  off  the 
case  and  fed  the  pigs  for  a  week,  but  no  improve 
ment;  then  they  husked  corn  on  shares  for 
Learn  and  Scott,  biled  the  corn  in  a  kittle  and 
ied  em  with  a  spoon — no  improvement;  next 
they  fed  em  on  oat  meal,  corn  meal  and  a  dozen 
other  kinds  of  cereals  and  stylish  diets,  without 
success,  for  they  squealed  so  nobody  livin  in  the 
section  could  sleep.  Next  dad  suggested  they 
hed  scurfy,  we  heated  water  and  washed  em 
clean  and  nice  in  the  tub,  but  the  water  was  too 
hot  and  it  took  the  hair  off  in  places,  so  they 
shivered  on  cold  November  mornings,  yet  they 
did  not  seem  to  improve;  so  dad  studied  a 
treatise  on  Swine-ology,  and  decided  that  they 
had  black  teeth,  so  we  took  em  down  and  sure 
enough  their  teeth  were  black  as  the  ace  of 
spades.  Dad  put  a  clevis  in  their  mouths  and 
knocked  all  of  their  teeth  down  their  throat  with 
a  cold  chisel.  Then  they  couldn't  eat  at  all,  they 
dragged  around  pulling  themselves  with  their 
front  feet  and  got  poorer  than  ever.  Leonard 
Baker  said  to  cut  off  their  tails  would  cure  them, 
for  he  thought  they  had  kidney  trouble;  then  1 
hopped  into  the  pen  and  cut  off  both  tails  with 
my  knife.  They  bled  bad  and  got  weak  frum  it 
and  took  to  the  straw  entirely.  Mother  took  em 
in  hand  then,  but  in  spite  of  all  her  care  one 
died  Christmas  and  tother  kicked  the  bucket 
New  Years." 

191 


"The  next  on  the  program,"  yelled  the  su 
perintendent,  "will  be  a  dance,  everybody  get 
your  partners." 

The  mouth  organ  played  by  Buckle,  the  violin 
by  Rupert  and  the  accordeon  managed  by  Swede 
Pete,  struck  up  and  one  of  the  greatest  Stag 
Dances  that  ever  took  place  was  on. 

"I'll  be  a  girl,"  modestly  piped  in  Huff,  and 
then  spreading  out  his  pantaloons,  trying  to  imi 
tate  a  mothcr-hubbard,  stood  waiting  for  a 
fellow. 

Many  of  the  lads  were  in  the  habit  of  dancing 
on  the  girl's  side  and  there  were  few  errors  in 
the  whole  mass  of  hopping  lumberjacks. 

When  Nick  paid  his  first  visit  to  Silvershade 
after  he  ruturned,  they  all  readily  saw  that  he 
was  a  different  man.  When  Minnie  asked  him 
about  it  he  sat  down  and  calmly  related  the 
whole  incident,  and  then  asked  the  sweet,  un 
biased  counsellor: 

"Tho*  Providence  has  ruled  unmercifully, 
should  I  behave  unwisely?" 

Both  Belle  and  Minnie  advised  him  safely  at 
this  critical  period,  appealing  to  his  faith  in  God. 
Nick  was  somewhat  altered  in  his  attitude. 

Madam  Corbett,  tamed  and  subdued,  came 
to  the  scenes  of  her  former  life. 

The  cook  and  the  Black  Wolf  were  still  in- 
seperable  and  were  now  employed  at  Peter's 
camp.  These  spacious  shanties  stood  at  the  foot 
of  a  big  bluff  which  was  semicircular  and  known 
as  Webb  Hill.  It  had  been  the  custom  for  many 

192 


years  for  the  family  at  Silvershade  to  visit  the 
camps,  and  sometimes  remaining  over  night  and 
on  other  occasions  riding  home  after  nightfall. 

It  was  Good  Friday,  the  cook  had  on  this 
occasion  put  forth  his  extra  efforts  to  suit  the 
taste  of  the  jolly-hearted  crowd  that  had  ridden 
over  from  Silvershade;  with  Nick  and  Madam 
Corhett,  they  pulled  up  the  huge  pine  bench 
and  ate  with  the  crew  which  for  them  was  al 
ways  a  delight.  Every  one  ate  heartily  of  the 
corn-beef  and  cabbage,  except  Nick  and  Madam 
Corbett,  upon  whom  the  cook  piled  his  humor 
because  they  let  religion  interfere  with  their 
appetite.  The  cook  urged  them  to  partake  of 
the  extra  dish,  but  Nick  smiled  and  refused, 
while  Madam  Corbett  said  Dutch  dishes  did  not 
appeal  to  the  Irish. 

The  ride  homeward  had  scarcely  begun  when 
Minnie  was  taken  ill,  and  one  after  another  be 
came  dizzy  and  began  to  vomit  in  a  violent,  con 
vulsive  manner.  The  parents  ate  very  little  of 
the  corned  beef  and  cabbage,  Nick  and  Corbett 
ate  none  at  all,  and  the  fact  that  these  four  were 
not  affected  proved  that  the  effect  was  from  eat 
ing  this  well  arranged  dish.  When  they  arrived 
at  home  the  children  were  all  desperately  ill. 
Every  native  remedy  was  given  but  without  avail, 
and  before  medical  aid  could  be  summoned  to 
counteract  the  illness  three  had  succumbed.  Min 
nie  was  the  first  to  go,  and  was  quickly  followed 
by  two  of  the  younger  brothers. 

Elder  Kellogg  was  summoned,  and  sad  indeed 

193 


was  the  early  spring  day  that  they  laid  them  down 
to  that  long,  silent  sleep.  The  death  toll  of  that 
supper  was  eleven  souls,  eight  shantymen  and 
the  settler's  three  children.  The  community 
arose  as  one  man  and  came  to  their  consolation. 
Strong  men  in  mackinaws  came  in  squads.  What 
a  funeral  it  was.  No  idle  spectators.  The  sweet 
voiced  German,  John  Buckle,  led  the  singing,  they 
sang  "Oh,  Say  Will  You  Go  to  That  Beautiful  Land, 
the  Far  Away  Home  of  the  Soul?";  and  for  Minnie, 
the  Reverend  Champion  chose  the  apt  words  for 
a  subject  "Her  Sun  Went  Down  While  It  Was 
Yet  Day.";  and  for  the  brothers  he  chose  the  ap 
propriate  text,  "They  Were  Lovely  and  Pleasant 
In  Their  Lives  and  In  Their  Death  Were  Not 
Divided."  It  was  not  till  after  this  woodland  pal 
ace  was  striken  with  its  triple  grief  that  the  in 
habitants  began  to  enjoy  the  sincere  love  and 
friendship  of  their  neighbors. 


194 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

|HE  years  that  no  man  can  chain,  no  com- 
bination  of  circumstances  impede,  came 
and  went  like  the  dreams  of  a  child. 
The  angels  had  sown  flakes  of  silver 
over  the  fair  temples  of  the  Master  and  Matron  of 
Silvershade  and  the  children  had  grown  to  man 
hood  and  womanhood.  As  the  schools  and 
churches  sprung  up  just  as  rapidly  were  the 
camps  closed  down  and  the  busy  mills  dismantled 
forever.  The  Circular  Saws  no  longer  ripped  the 
slabs  from  the  Norway  timber,  but  instead  the 
plowshare  cut  the  roots  and  the  dynamite  lifted 
the  stumps  where  the  pine  once  grew,  that  a 
different  crop  might  be  harvested  where  the 
shantymen  flourished  and  faded  from  the  coun 
try. 

It  was  late  in  October,  the  first  autumnal  snow 
had  sifted  through  the  cedar  boughs  and  all  na 
ture,  tho'  unwillingly,  had  assumed  the  robe  of 
winter. 

The  settlers  had  filled  the  root-house  with  a 
store  of  vegetables;  the  wood  shed  was  stacked 
full  of  block  maple,  blue  beech  and  capped  off 
with  pitch  pine  kindlings.  A  great  bunch  of  hem 
lock  knots  had  been  gathered  and  laid  for  long 
fires,  and  as  they  were  placed  in  the  wood  pile 

195 


they  looked  like  so  many  buffalo  horns.  These 
with  the  fat-pine  were  never  excelled  for  the  cook 
stove.  The  barns  were  filled  with  timothy  and 
clover  hay,  cut,  dried  and  hauled  with  a  drop  of 
rain  on  it,  no  dust,  no  smut,  was  bright  and  nutri 
tious.  The  corn  stocks  stood  in  a  row  of  shocks 
protecting  the  cattle  shed  on  the  northeast. 

A  host  of  merrymakers,  farmers,  river-drivers, 
shantymen  and  others  draw  their  chairs  closer  to 
the  round  oak  stove  as  the  Mistress  of  the  Manor 
pours  out  the  following  story — 

"You  have  long  wondered  why  I  have  chosen 
the  wilderness  as  my  home  and  have  rambled  by 
the  woodland  rivers,  listened  to  the  songs  of  the 
birds,  the  claps  of  thunder,  the  roar  of  the  bliz 
zard  and  the  purl  of  the  rushing  torrents.  Why 
I  delight  in  the  flowers  of  springtime,  the  silver 
birch  and  pretty  pebbles  in  the  bed  of  the  brook, 
and  why  I  gather  noble  liverwort,  mix  medicines 
by  boiling  up  various  herbs;  and  know  how  to 
make  ink  from  soft  maple  bark;  always  treat 
Shonagon  kindly,  and  give  butter,  milk  and 
maple  sugar  to  the  bands  of  red  men  as  they  pass; 
and  get  in  return  the  saddles  of  the  fattest  deer, 
the  steak  of  the  best  bear,  the  choice  fish  and 
rarest  ducks  and  pheasants.  Why  I  always 
wreath  my  cakes  with  myrtle  vines,  and  never 
call  a  doctor;  make  tea  of  wintergreen  and  wild 
hemp,  and  do  all  the  other  acts  unnatural  for 
white  women. 

"On  the  North  Bank  of  the  Niagara  River  there 
lived  a  Seneca  Chieftain.    He  had  one  son,  White 

196 


Eagle,  a  noble  Indian.  He  came  to  Hamilton  to 
collect  bounty  and  sell  his  numerous  pelts.  He 
saw  a  girl  fourteen  years  of  age,  she  was  fully 
developed.  He  loved  her  and  she  loved  him  in 
return;  he  asked  for  her  and  honorably  married 
her.  She  became  my  mother — and  when  I  was 
just  a  few  months  younger  than  my  mother  when 
White  Eagle  first  saw  her,  an  actor  in  the  wilds 
on  his  vacation  passed  our  cot,  lost  in  the  breast 
of  nature;  the  actor  looked  back  at  me,  and  I 
saw  that  look,  we  understood;  love  blazed  in  the 
forests;  he  stayed  his  journey;  that  week  we  were 
wed  and  he  took  me  to  the  city.  I  was  lost  and 
abashed.  Three  years  chased  away,  and  every 
year  the  great  Spirit  gave  us  a  child.  The  western 
world  rang  its  fascination  tocsin,  he  wanted  a 
home  for  his  birds.  He  left  us  with  this  purpose, 
but  without  making  any  explanation  of  such  in 
tentions.  I  sought  him  for  months,  but  in  vain. 
The  earth  seemed  to  have  swallowed  him  up  and 
left  no  trace  behind.  After  months  I  received  a 
paper  from  the  west  which  stated  that  he  was 
drowned  in  the  Father  of  Waters.  That  he  had 
taken  the  river  barge  named  The  Isle,  and  that 
this  barge  had  sunk  with  all  on  board.  After  this 
I  married  again  and  there  was  born  to  us  two 
black-eyed  sons.  Their  father  enlisted  in  sixty- 
one  and  was  shot  on  the  battlefield  of  Shiloh.  In 
despair  I  sat  down,  twice  widowed,  still  under 
twenty. 

One  rainy  November  day,  while  sitting  in  the 
window  looking  across  the  street,  I  saw  a  man 

197 


who  attracted  my  attention,  he  looked  and  walked 
familiar.  In  a  few  moments  there  came  a  rap  at 
the  door,  I  opened  the  door  and  there  stood  my 
first  love. 

"I  was  terrified,  sorry,  glad  and  dazed.  I 
uttered,  why,  I  thought,  yes,  I  read  it,  well  it  was 
not,  was  it  oh!  God,  no,  it  was  not.  He  knew  me 
and  took  me  calmly  and  led  me  to  a  chair.  We 
sat  down  and  he  said: 

"  Tor  you  and  ours  I  went  West.  I  knew  you 
would  not  consent  and  so  I  left  you  all  I  had,  six 
hundred  dollars,  the  gold  I  got  from  my  rich 
uncle's  estate.  I  signed  to  go  on  the  barge  Isle, 
but  I  could  not  make  a  settlement  with  the  Rock 
Island  Bridge  Co.,  for  whom  I  labored,  and  had  to 
start  the  next  day.  I  did  sign  the  log-book  and 
gave  them  my  full  description,  initials  and  occu 
pation.  That  boat  was  sunk  but  I  landed  safely 
at  St.  Louis  and  sailed  the  prairies  in  a  canvas 
schooner.  I  often  wrote  back  to  you,  but  I  sup 
pose  the  Indians  robbed  the  mails;  and  as  I  never 
heard  from  you,  I  supposed  you  had  forsaken  me. 
I  waited  at  Fort  Bridger  for  an  answrer  half  a 
season,  only  to  be  disappointed.  I  know  what 
happened  while  I  was  gone,  I  first  learned  it  to 
day;  had  I  known  it  before  I  came  to  the  city, 
I  never  would  have  returned.' 

"As  he  said  these  words  I  cut  a  lock  of  hair 
from  his  forehead,  wrapped  it  in  tissue  paper  and 
related  the  tragedy,  because  I  was  misinformed. 
I  led  him  to  the  cradle  and  let  him  look  at  two 
boys  that  belonged  to  his  wife  but  not  to  him. 

198 


While  he  gazed  I  said: 

'  'The  price  of  our  amibtion." 

"He  nodded  and  sighed,  'Yes,  my  ambition.' 

"He  sank  into  a  rocking  chair  and  I  sat  upon 
his  knee  and  held  his  throbbing  temples,  while 
his  heart  grasped  at  the  new  and  bitter  situation. 
A  blue-eyed  girl  came  singing  into  the  room,  she 
blushed  and  backed  away  as  she  saw  the  strange 
blue-eyed,  handsome  man;  then  a  boy  but  twelve 
months  younger  came  in,  running  after  his  sister 
— I  saw  emotion  and  expectancy  in  the  eyes  of 
the  lover  of  my  youth,  he  was  looking  for  the  babe 
he  kissed  that  midnight  long  ago  when  he  went 
west.  He  arose,  deliberately  took  the  lock  of  hair 
I  had  folded  in  paper  and  threw  it  in  the  fire,  and 
then  flung  himself  into  my  barren  bosom,  drew 
the  two  children,  his  and  ours,  into  the  reunion 
and  wept  long  and  loud.  Then  he  walked  to  the 
cradle,  lifted  each  of  the  boys  out  and  kissed  them 
tenderly  as  a  father,  adopted  them  voluntarily 
and  no  one  but  he  and  I  ever  knew  that  they  did 
not  belong  to  us  both 

"Next  day  I  led  him  to  the  cemetery  and  to 
gether  we  wept  by  a  new-made  grave,  cut  in  the 
November  sod,  under  which  I  had  laid  away  the 
darling  daughter  while  he  was  gone,  the  tiny  babe 
he  kissed  when  he  departed.  We  were  married 
again,  eight  children  blessed  our  second  union 
and  we  have  long  years  ago  forgotten  that  there 
was  a  break  in  our  link  of  love." 

The  tale  broke  off,  Belle  pulled  the  dried 
beech-nuts  from  the  oven,  passed  around  the 

199 


chunks  of  slippery  elm  bark,  the  boys  had  cut 
from  the  root  of  the  tree  where  it  grew  thickest 
and  most  tender;  this  was  the  ancient  caramel; 
then  she  turned  the  can  of  pitch  into  a  pan  of 
boiling  water  and  served  to  that  company  the 
best  chewing  gum  ever  offered  to  the  world. 

The  poet  of  the  pines,  after  the  tragedy  of 
Peter's  Camps,  ceased  his  labors  which  he  had 
followed  so  long,  had  bowed  at  the  altar  of  the 
village  church  and  taken  up  the  life  of  Methodist 
Itinerant.  He  had  always  been  highly  esteemed 
by  the  farmers  and  shantymen  and  had  refrained 
from  all  forms  of  sin.  His  lips  wrere  untainted 
with  liquor  and  profanity,  and  in  his  mouth  was 
found  no  guile.  He  never  fell  into  those  fits  of 
uncontrollable  passion  which  was  so  common  to 
his  kind.  Rev.  Carrell,  a  saintly  and  beloved 
Minister,  had  urged  him  to  give  his  life  for  the 
Master.  He  gave  himself  unselfishly  over  to  the 
labors  of  love,  beginning  his  services  in  a  log 
schoolhouse  near  the  scenes  of  his  former  occu 
pation. 

He  had  never  suffered  criticism,  but  now  he 
saw  that  it  was  different  when  he  took  a  positive, 
not  a  passive,  stand  for  righteousness.  Folks 
openly  shunned  his  counsel  and  old  friends  parted 
ways  with  him.  But  to  offset  this  unlocked  for 
attitude  many  came  to  him  for  advice,  and  thus 
encouraged  him  in  his  work.  Night  after  night 
he  had  spoken  to  a  handful  of  folks  who  gathered 
to  hear  the  untrained,  illiterate  backwoodsman 
preach,  but  had  no  marked  success.  At  the  close 

200 


of  the  second  week  of  protracted  meetings,  just 
after  he  had  given  out  his  text,  which  was,  "What 
Will  It  Profit  a  Man  If  He  Gain  the  Whole  World 
and  Lose  His  Own  Soul?"  a  squad  of  rough  lads 
bolted  in  and  listened  attentively  to  the  sermon. 
As  the  invitation  was  given  to  come  forward  the 
whole  hunch  rose  as  one  man  and  deliberately 
and  earnestly  gave  themselves  to  Christ.  This 
was  one  of  the  greatest  nights  the  valley  ever 
knew,  and  as  a  result  from  these  meetings  in  that 
old  log  schoolhouse,  over  fifty  churches  have 
sprung  up,  five  thousand  people  have  been  con 
verted,  and  thirty-five  Ministers  of  the  Gospel 
have  preached  a  reformation. 

The  "Poet  Preacher,"  as  he  was  known,  grew 
to  be  a  general  favorite;  he  was  sought  by  all 
where  sympathy  and  Gospel  were  needed  The 
greatest  amount  of  his  energy,  if  not  his  talent, 
had  been  wasted  in  the  forests,  while  young  as 
we  count  years  he  was  old  with  hardships,  and 
knew  that  what  he  did  must  be  done  quickly. 
Rheumatism  had  set  its  vise-like  grip  upon  him 
and  colds  contracted  and  al'lowred  to  continue, 
had  stolen  his  manly  vigor.  He  wras  a  keen,  sen 
sitive,  wide  awake  boy,  and  now  as  he  advanced 
in  years  he  saw  all  these  had  drawn  from  the 
storage-batteries  of  life.  He  had  woven  rhymes 
while  others  had  slept,  studied  while  others  played 
games  and  pursued  pleasure,  had  given  himself 
in  unlimited  measure  while  others  only  gave  what 
they  could  easily  get  along  without.  As  the  years 
passed  by,  one  by  one  the  old  Preachers  who  had 

201 


held  aloft  the  flaming  ensign  of  Calvary  and  had 
shouted  the  burning  messages  of  salvation,  fell 
in  the  fight,  leaving  no  successors. 

It  was  a  cold  midwinter  night,  the  snow 
whirled  round  and  round  in  flurries,  the  wind 
blew  a  gauger.  'Twas  one  of  the  great  blizzards 
which  came  later  in  the  country  after  the  forests 
were  thread-bare  and  the  hills  and  valleys  unpro 
tected.  The  Poet  was  stopping  at  Gillmores,  on 
the  Jam  One  road;  they  were  about  to  retire  when 
a  rap  came  at  the  door  and  Hank  Lardy  was  ad 
mitted  with  the  information  that  Max  had  been 
killed  that  afternoon  on  the  railroad  track  and 
was  to  be  buried  the  following  day.  Nick,  out 
of  respect  for  the  family,  had  requested  that  the 
Poet  Preacher  come  and  officiate  at  the  funeral 
of  his  brother,  who  had  long  been  excommuni 
cated  from  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  It  was  a  diffi- 
fult  task  and  the  Minister,  full  of  pathos  and 
loving  words,  did  the  part  well;  all  the  rude  men 
who  met  that  day  to  hear  the  oration  from  a  fel 
low  comrade  over  the  bier  of  a  life-long  friend, 
forever  afterwards  loved  and  revered  the  servant 
of  the  living  God. 

After  the  death  of  Max,  Nick  decided  to  leave 
forever  the  valley  of  the  Manistee.  But  this  was 
learned  and  was  gladly  hailed  by  the  desperate 
set  of  black-legs  that  seemed  to  multiply  in  and 
about  Lost  Cabin.  The  entire  community,  know 
ing  that  he  was  the  only  one  they  feared,  prevailed 
on  him  to  remain  at  least  until  the  community 
was  freed  from  the  ravages  of  such  noted  char- 

202 


acters. 

The  community  was  again  startled  by  the  sad 
and  sudden  death  of  three  more  of  the  inhabitants. 
A  husband,  wife  and  little  babe. 

Shortly,  after  this,  one  night  came  a  small, 
keen  eyed  man  to  Silvershade,  conversed  for  an 
hour  and  passed  on  to  Peter's  Camps,  where  he 
found  employment. 

At  the  camp  he  served  for  six  weeks,  bucking 
the  tiger-grinning  logs  out  of  the  Black  Ash  Swale. 
There  was  quite  a  commotion  one  morning  when 
he  snapped  the  handcuffs  on  both  the  cook  and 
the  Black  Wolf  and  ordered  the  boss  to  hitch  up 
and  carry  him  and  his  prisoners  to  town  The 
boss  and  some  of  the  boys  were  indignant,  but 
when  he  showed  them  his  star  and  Federal  papers 
signed  at  Washington,  they  gladly  gave  him  all 
the  assistance  he  needed.  The  boss  offered  to 
pay  him  for  his  work  but  he  refused,  saying  "I 
draw  my  pay  from  Uncle  Sam  and  I  can't  put  in 
double  time." 

On  the  way  to  the  County  Seat  he  urged  the 
teamster  to  drive  south  two  miles  and  pass  Silver- 
shade;  as  they  did  so  he  chained  his  two  prisoners 
to  the  wagon  wheel,  locking  them  safely,  and 
came  back  presently  with  a  third  prisoner  and 
that  was  Madam  Corbett.  The  drive  was  some 
what  tedious  to  the  County  Seat,  eighteen  miles 
away,  but  before  night  fall  the  three  apprehended 
persons  were  landed  safely  in  jail. 

The  whole  valley  was  ablaze  with  wonder  and 
excitement  in  less  than  a  week.  Like  lightning 

203 


it  flashed  over  the  entire  region.  The  day  came 
for  a  hearing  and  after  each  had  been  questioned 
the  charge  was  made  against  them  by  the  small, 
bright-eyed  officer. 

"Will  the  three  suspects  hear  the  charge 
against  them,"  were  the  words  of  the  Prosecutor; 
"it  is  as  follows : 

"In  less  than  five  years,  sixteen  persons  have 
suddenly  and  mysteriously  died.  No  one  hut  Nick 
of  the  Woods  ever  suspected  anything  was  wrong, 
but  through  his  suspicions  this  Detective  Robert 
Aide  was  detailed  to  investivate,  and  now  charges 
Madam  Corbett,  The  Black  Wolf  and  the  cook 
with  the  murder  of  Archie,  Mazie  of  Idleliour, 
Minnie  and  her  two  brothers  of  Silvershade,  eight 
men  on  good  Friday  night,  April  17,  1884,  Jim, 
Sarah  and  Johnnie  Mead,  February  4,  1886,  mak 
ing  a  total  of  sixteen  persons.  The  charge  is  that 
Madam  Corbett  did  the  premeditating  and  the 
Wolf  and  cook  were  her  accomplices.  Madam 
Corbett  is  an  astute  individual,  money  lured  her 
to  first  give  the  poison  for  Cain's  insurance,  and 
others  who  knew  her  wily  and  dangerous  disposi 
tion  became  her  unfortunate  victims.  It  is  known 
that  she  refused  to  partake  of  the  special  dish 
that  the  cook  mixed  at  camp  that  fatal  Good  Fri 
day  night,  knowing  that  is  was  seasoned  with  a 
deadly  dose.  I,  Robert  Aide,  charge  all  three  with 
murder  in  the  first  degree." 

When  these  words  were  read  the  hundreds 
who  had  packed  into  the  courtroom  fairly  gasped. 
The  plot  was  exposed  and  without  a  trial  every- 

204 


body  knew  at  once  they  were  guilty. 

The  cook  denied  it  all  and  scoffed  lightly.  The 
Wolf  put  his  head  down,  and  his  dark  handsome 
face  assumed  the  pale,  rigid  position  of  a  lion  at 
bay.  Madam  Corhett  was  transposed  from  the 
gay,  gaudy  peacock  to  a  sad  and  deserted  woman 
They  were  led  back  to  jail  and  lodged  for  the 
night. 

That  night  somebody  gave  the  Black  Wolf  a 
steel  watch  spring;  he  made  this  into  a  hack-saw, 
filed  off  two  bars  and  escaped. 

While  he  was  making  his  escape  Madam  Cor- 
bett  was  making  ready  hers  also;  but  in  a  differ 
ent  manner.  Sometime  in  that  night  in  this  sad 
and  serious  condition  she  drew  from  a  hollow 
link  in  the  chain  that  encircled  her  neck  an  atom 
of  powerful  poison,  and  as  her  many  victims  had 
writhed  in  the  throes  of  death  by  her  own  evil 
hand,  she,  too,  must  suffer  in  like  fashion;  young 
and  beautiful  as  she  was,  prostrated  under  the 
awful  charge  of  many  crimes,  she  ended  that  dark 
and  dangerous  career.  The  jailer  found  her  next 
morning  with  a  written  confession  at  her  side. 
They  folded  her  white  hands  over  her  fair  bosom, 
under  which  such  dark  plots  were  brewed;  and  in 
her  own  clean  gowns,  white  as  her  brow  of  mar 
ble,  they  buried  her,  deep  in  the  jackpine  forest, 
while  the  Poet  Preacher  sadly  said: 

"Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes  and  dust  to 
dust."  And  for  many  years  as  one  passed  that 
way  they  could  read  on  a  split  pine  slab  these 
words,  "Madam  Corbett,  Aged  30  years." 

The  cook  was  sentenced  to  prison  for  life.  But 
he  lost  his  mind  and  was  returned  to  the  asylum, 
where  he  soon  died.  He  was  buried  in  an  un 
known  grave,  because  he  had  disgraced  the  noble 
lumbermen  on  the  Manistee. 

205 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WAS  believed  that  the  Wolf  escaped 
through  the  assistance  of  Rex  Mills, 
who  was  assisted  by  six  or  seven  of  the 
most  desperate  characters  in  all  the 
country.  The  Wolf  was  seen  on  the  following 
morning  headed  for  Lost  Cabin. 

The  country  wras  up  in  arms  over  the  arrest, 
charge  and  now  the  suicide  and  confession  01 
Madam  Corbett. 

Nick  of  the  Woods  was  deputized  and  sworn 
United  States  Marshal,  detailed  to  either  kill  or 
capture  the  gang  at  Lost  Cabin. 

He  chose  Andy  McFarland,  Jake  Wolf,  Hank 
Seaten,  John  Price,  Charles  Mack,  Darb  Welch, 
Billy  Moran  and  Mike  Barrett,  the  bravest,  ablest, 
most  trusty  and  peace  loving  lads  that  ever  graced 
the  Manistee,  to  be  his  companions. 

They  planned  the  capture,  were  armed  and 
prepared  to  storm  the  hill  where  they  had  long 
held  in  fear  and  mystery  a  terror  to  the  state. 

For  several  days  they  drew  the  net  closer  and 
closer,  evading  the  bag  the  wily  men  had  held 
for  them,  expecting  that  they  would  fall  in  and 
be  silenced.  As  they  drew  nearer  the  rendezvous 
occasionally  they  would  discover  the  traces  of  the 
wicked  work  done  by  the  desperadoes. 

206 


It  became  very  hot  and  dry,  the  limbs  would 
crack  under  their  feet  and  the  work  grew  tedious 
and  more  dangerous.  They  well  knew  that  they 
were  dealing  with  men  who  could  shoot  the  eye 
out  of  a  bird  on  the  wing,  snuff  a  candle  with  a 
pistol,  and  perform  other  feats  of  backwoods 
skill.  They  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
crack  pistol  shot  in  the  United  States  was  with 
them — one  who  could  split  bullets  on  the  bit  of 
an  ax  forty  feet  away,  and  he  was  reported  to 
have  been  seen  with  a  long  range  rifle,  located 
on  a  leaning  tree  that  overlooked  the  whole  vale 
where  the  officrs  must  approach. 

At  midnight  they  camped,  they  were  within 
two  miles  of  the  cabin.  It  was  four  o'clock  when 
they  awakened,  and  as  they  turned  their  eyes 
westward  toward  the  hill  Nick  exclaimed, 
"Smoke!" 

"What?"  inquired  Andy. 

"I  see  smoke  and  fire,  too."  At  the  words  of 
fire  every  man  arose. 

A  shudder  came  over  them  at  the  mention 
of  the  name  of  the  most  dangerous  and  dis 
astrous  foe  of  the  region. 

"Sure  'nuff,"  said  Nick;  "and  I  think  it's  this 
side  of  the  river.'* 

"It  is,  boys,  and  the  whole  grove  will  be 
melted,  I  never  seen  it  so  dry  before,"  said  Nick. 
"And  the  prickly  ash,  black  haw,  briars,  and  shin- 
tangle  will  all  go  up  in  smoke;  you'll  have  no 
trouble  seeing  Lost  Cabin,  if  it's  standing,  by  sun 
down." 

207 


"Which  way's  the  wind?"  asked  Price,  as  he 
put  his  forefinger  in  his  mouth,  wet  it  and  held 
it  up.  "It's  westward,"  he  exclaimed,  "cause  that 
west  side  of  my  wet  finger  feels  cool  with  the 
breeze." 

"Boys,  now  listen,"  said  Nick;  "we're  going  to 
have  a  fight.  You  all  know  Black  Wolf,  leave 
him  to  me.  By  noon  every  man  on  that  hill 
yonder,  (pointing  toward  Lost  Cabin),  will  be 
driven  our  way— all  we  have  to  do  is  to  tree  where 
we  can  see  each  other  and  pick  our  men  when  the 
flames  drive  them  our  way.  I'll  take  the  center, 
this  old  elm's  a  good  shelter;  now  scatter  out  and 
don't  shut  your  peepers  nor  lose  your  nerve;  aim 
low,  don't  kill  unless  you  have  to,  wound  and 
disarm  your  man;  there  is  one  man  apiece,  I  am 
sure.  Take  ymir  places;  prove  yourselves  men." 

As  he  made  this  short,  pithy  speech  every  man 
took  his  place. 

"Andy,  you  stop  at  my  right  over  there,  and 
Mack,  you  stand  over  there  on  my  left,  and  the 
rest  of  you  scatter  out,  covering  the  strip  of  ground 
where  it  will  be  possible  for  the  bandits  to  make 
their  escape." 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  all  taken  shelter 
behind  a  tree  and  were  equally  distributed  over 
the  only  patch  of  ground  where  the  gang  of 
ruffians  could  escape.  Here  sat  these  forest  rifle 
rangers,  all  of  whom  had  graduated  from  the 
university  of  hard  knocks,  ready  and  willing  to 
face  the  most  dangerous  and  desperate  foe  if  cir 
cumstances  demanded. 

208 


209 


The  demon  tongues  of  the  forest  fire  licked 
up  every  scrap  of  combustible  matter  from  the 
root  of  the  gnarled  oak  to  the  topmost  leaf  of  the 
lofty  ash,  and  through  the  forests,  like  an  all- 
devouring  and  conquering  army,  marched  those 
columns  of  red  and  blue.  Ashes  and  black  smoke, 
sparks  and  cinders,  roaring  like  a  cyclone,  min 
gled  with  the  cry  of  the  bird,  the  whine  of  the 
cub  wolf,  the  shriek  of  the  hawk  and  eagle  and 
the  various  death  wails  of  innumerable  bugs, 
insects,  chipmunks,  squirrels,  hedge-hogs,  moles, 
mice,  mink,  marten,  weasels,  fox  and  other  ani 
mals  that  inhabit  these  great  wild  groves.  By 
ten  o'clock  the  broken  and  precipitous  ravines, 
which  were  matted  with  black  haw  and  prickly 
swept  clean  as  a  pipe-stem, 
ash,  and  numerous  trees  and  underbrushes,  were 

While  Nick  and  his  assistants  were  waiting 
for  fleeing  men,  seven  other  fellows,  instead  of 
fleeing  to  fall  into  the  net  so  cunningly  spread 
for  them,  were  fighting  fire  and  had  been  since 
dawn.  Two  had  been  overcome,  their  retreat  cut 
off,  escape  was  impossible  and  they  were  burned 
alive;  the  others  fought  stubbornly  to  beat  back 
the  red  foe  which  came  onward  like  the  waves  of 
the  deep,  and  onward  came  those  red  hordes  till 
at  last  they  leaped  up  the  sides  and  over  the  roof 
of  Lost  Cabin,  like  beasts  of  lightning. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  tremendous  explosion, 
the  whole  earth  shook  for  miles  around,  and  the 
debris  composed  of  split  logs,  pieces  of  rude  made 
furniture,  stove  pipe  and  other  fragments  of 

210 


household  effects,  mingled  with  limbs  and  brush, 
fell  for  over  a  mile  around  the  hill  where  the 
great  shock  occurred.  This  upheaval,  like  a  vol 
canic  eruption,  scattered  the  fire  far  and  wide; 
it  swept  like  a  stampede  of  wild  chargers  towards 
the  woods  where  Nick's  riflemen  lay  waiting  the 
retreat  of  the  bandits.  Nick  saw  at  once  that  he 
and  his  men  must  beat  a  retreat  before  a  deadlier 
foe  than  had  ever  cocked  a  gun,  or  wielded  a 
bloody  knife;  at  Nick's  order  every  man  left  his 
tree  and  fled  down  the  slopes,  pursued  by  the 
lapping  and  cracking  flames,  fanned  forward  by 
a  mighty  western  wind. 

Ham  Creek,  with  its  ripples  of  ice  water, 
stayed  the  flames,  the  red  ensign  of  devastation 
fell  upon  the  green  cedar  boughs  that  skirted  the 
quiet  valley  and  expired  like  snowflakes  in 
August  waters.  The  forest  riflemen  camped  on 
the  bank  of  the  protecting  creek,  and  just  after 
midnight  a  great  peal  of  thunder  broke  the  soli 
tude  of  the  woods  and  a  bright  banner  of  elec 
tricity  lit  up  the  dim  aisles  of  the  virgin  groves; 
down  came  the  rain,  drenching  everything  and 
drowning  all  forest  fires  in  the  country. 

At  the  breaking  of  day  the  officers,  led  by 
Nick,  very  cautiously  returned,  climbed  the  hill 
without  a  single  challenge,  and  stood  before  the 
spot  once  occupied  by  the  detestable  dive.  The 
logs  were  partly  devoured  by  fire  and  others 
blown  out  of  sight  entirely.  Where  the  cellar 
must  have  been  the  bandits  had  stored  dynamite, 
shells,  powder  and  other  booty,  a  great  hole  was 

211 


lorn  in  the  earth  large  enough  to  bury  a  lumber 
camp.  On  the  western  brow  of  the  ridge  they 
found  two  charred  and  disfigured  bodies,  and 
near  them  shovels  with  which  they  had  evidently 
been  trying  to  stay  the  fire.  On  the  hill  top,  in 
different  localities  around  the  cabin,  they  found 
five  other  bodies,  burned  beyond  recognition;  and 
just  before  the  mystic  rendezvous  lay  the  frames 
of  two  ill-shaped  and  monstrous  beasts,  the  mis 
erable  offsprings  of  the  stag  hound  mastiffs  and 
wild  wolves. 

The  men  reverently  dug  a  place  on  the  eastern 
front  of  that  picturesque  and  coveted  location, 
and  laid  the  men  away,  covering  the  mound  with 
red  sand  stones  to  keep  away  the  foxes  and  the 
wolves.  Every  one  supposed  that  one  of  these 
I.lackened  bodies  was  that  of  the  subtle  and  un 
fortunate  man,  the  Black  Wolf  from  Vassar. 

Nick  and  his  fellows  returned  and  gave  a  full 
report  of  all  that  happened.  The  whole  country 
rejoiced,  more  particularly  because  protective 
Providence  had  taken  the  initiative,  and  had 
rained  with  fire  the  cabin  and  destroyed  the  lives 
of  those  vicious  and  heartless  men  who  had  long 
terrorized  the  country,  and  left  Nick  of  the  Woods 
and  his  brave  and  noble  companions  conquerors 
without  taking  the  life  of  fellow  man  or  shedding 
a  drop  of  human  blood. 

After  all  these  years  the  rumor  runs  that  when 
belated  forest  rangers  pass  near  that  cursed  and 
hideous  territory  on  their  way  to  the  Ausable, 
thev  see  the  skeletons  of  two  ill-shapen  brutes 

212 


ituggmg  at  their  chains  from  the  summit  of  the 
hill  growing  over  with  another  forest;  and  the 
woods,  river,  glade  and  valleys  ring  with  their 
unearthly  howling.  It  is  also  told  that  sometimes 
on  cold  moonlight  nights  when  the  robes  of  win 
ter  are  spread  over  the  long  deserted  hill,  that  the 
demon  shadows  of  seven  men  can  be  distinctly 
seen  from  the  winding  river  below  and  the  sky 
line  wagon  road  above,  flitting  around  loading 
guns,  fighting  fire,  dishing  up  mush  and  laughing 
in  diabolical  fashion,  exposing  the  deeds  of  other 
days. 


213 


CHAPTER  XV. 

!HE  lumbermen  have  passed  away,  the 
camps  are  deserted  and  crushed  by  fall 
ing  trees  and  heavy  snows  or  consumed 
by  conflagration  which  sooner  or  later 
eats  up  the  landmarks  of  the  predecessors.  The 
logging  roads  are  impassable,  filled  with  blown 
down  timber  and  grown  up  to  grass,  weeds  and 
bushes.  Fragments  of  the  tools,  sleds,  drays,  big 
wheels,  dump-carts  and  ruined  mills,  rotten  roll- 
ways  are  here  and  there  visible.  Only  these  shat 
tered  fragments  remain  to  testify  to  the  life  and 
labor  of  the  lumbermen  of  the  Manistee. 

Silvershade  and  Idlehour  are  deserted  now, 
their  fond  inhabitants  have  gone  the  way  of  all 
the  earth.  The  Master  and  Matron  sleep  with 
their  fathers  and  the  children  whose  labors  were 
lightened  with  love  have  scattered  far  and  wide. 
Of  that  bright  company  only  one  remains  in 
these  forsaken  haunts,  and  she,  like  the  last  leaf 
on  the  family  tree,  clirtgs  lovingly,  tho1  sadly,  to 
the  old  realms  where  happiness  came  and  ended 
in  the  night  of  darkness  and  despair.  Belle  goes 
about  sowing  the  seeds  of  kindness  and  Christian 
love,  her  frame  is  aged  now  and  her  once  golden 
locks  are  thinned  and  whitened  by  the  hands  of 
Father  Time.  Where  the  Poet  Preacher  fell  at  his 

214 


all  glorious  and  immortal  duty  she  picked  up  the 
ensign  of  the  cross,  which  his  feeble  hands  had 
dropped  untimely  and  still  carries  it  forward  to 
ward  "that  city  which  hath  foundations,  whose 
builder  and  maker  is  God." 

Lumbermen  from  the  Manistee  float  down  the 
Frazier  River,  through  the  Canadian  Rockies,  or 
dare  the  wild  Kickinghorse.  Some  float  the  lazy, 
murky  bayous  of  Mississippi,  and  the  redwood 
groves  in  California  ring  with  their  labor  and 
song.  They  are  represented  in  South  America  and 
Australia  under  sunnier  skies.  And  over  the  Chil- 
koot  Pass,  down  the  Whitehorse  Rapids  to  the 
mighty  northern  rivers,  the  Yukon,  Tannana,  Cop 
per  and  Kuskokwim  they  float  and  toss  in  icy 
waters  fed  by  giant  glaciers.  They  have  mingled 
with  professional  men  and  become  agriculturists 
of  note  and  merchants  in  the  greater  marts  of 
trade.  But  the  mass  of  them  are  resting  now, 
freed  from  all  the  cares,  spared  from  all  the  weari 
ness  and  worry  that  flesh  is  heir  to. 

The  pioneers  who  converted  the  forests  into 
those  trim  little  farms  for  which  the  valley  was 
noted,  have  likewise  gone  into  God's  ash  heaps 
and  much  of  their  labor  has  followed  them. 

The  lumber  Kings  have  left  a  name  only. 
Many  of  them  gave  to  the  causes  of  a  greater  city, 
to  the  construction  of  bridges,  Churches,  schools* 
libraries,  roads  and  various  enterprises,  thus  stay 
ing  the  utter  stagnation  of  civic  progress  and 
moral  reform.  It  can  be  intelligently  and  truth 
fully  stated  that  as  they  received  from  the  brow 

215 


of  honest  labor  their  golden  rewards  in  the  same 
bright  streams  have  they  given  back  that  which 
they  gathered  to  relieve  the  want  of  men.  As 
their  honorable  descendants  will  testify. 

The  merchants  who  dealt  in  the  wares  of  life, 
wh/6  took  white  horses  for  pay  and  trusted  every 
body,  have  likewise  made  their  contribution  to 
the  world  and  the  ages  past.  No  better,  nor  more 
honorable  men,  ever  carried  on  a  business  of  any 
sort  with  a  greater  degree  of  success  and  under 
more  poverty  stricken  circumstances  than  those 
in  the  lumber  belts. 

"And  ye,  thou  proud  and  beloved  valley — 
Where  smiling  spring  her  earliest  visit  paid 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  de 
layed." 

Can  we  with  a  broken  reed  dipped  in  soft 
maple  ink  write  for  you  a  proper  epitaph?  We 
lament  over  our  failure  but  rejoice  in  your  vic 
tory.  Nature  has  wooed  and  won  you  back  again 
— time  has  restored  your  once  punctured  and 
tattered  gown,  rent  by  our  ambitions.  Many  a 
hill  and  glade,  vale  and  upland  pasture  lie  silent 
and  unclaimed.  Many  a  plashing  river  flowing 
in  its  secluded  highway  has  welcomed  back  the 
cunning  beaver  to  cut  the  timber  of  a  second 
growth  and  dam  the  river  which  flows  in  idleness 
and  beauty. 

The  forest  ranger,  dressed  in  his  fascinating 
khaki,  patrols  the  lonely  plains,  sweetened  again 
with  arbutus  and  wild  strawberries,  camps  by  the 
rivers  and  fishes  for  dappled  trout.  The  broad 

216 


area  is  green  with  a  different  forest  instead  of  a 
slender  moaning  pine,  are  the  bush  oak,  popple 
and  the  silver  birch.  The  only  witness  for  the 
labors  of  the  lumbermen  are  the  blackened 
stumps,  which  after  forty  seasons  still  testify  to 
the  once  charming  operations  of  those  jolly  men. 

In  the  picturesque  Willamette  Valley,  where 
yellow  fir  is  king,  Nick  now  pursues  his  craft.  He 
is  old  and  his  frame  is  shrunken,  his  steps  once  so 
light  and  elastic  drag  slowly  and  wearily  by. 
Evenings  and  mornings  and  Sabbath  days  he  idles 
by  the  silvery  river,  thinking  all  over  again  the 
times  he  and  she  sat  by  the  Big  Muskegon,  where 
love  was  born  to  flutter  and  fall  like  the  snow 
flakes  on  the  stream.  He  wonders  how  she  looks 
now — for  she  too  must  be  old,  for  time  never 
favors  certain  individuals  however  good  and  fair; 
as  he  thinks  of  the  Big  Muskegon  again,  like  a 
summer  dream  the  tragedies,  excitements  and 
sorrows  flit  over  the  background  of  the  past. 

The  camp  where  he  was  employed  stood  at 
the  base  of  a  noble  and  noted  mountain,  where 
above  the  timber  line,  high  upon  her  brow  lay 
everlasting  snow. 

As  he  looked  westward  toward  the  ocean  he 
saw  a  ridge  gracefully  fringed  with  a  shaggy  for 
est,  which  reminded  him  of  the  high  bluffs  of  the 
distant  Manistee.  And  as  he  stood  upon  the  scenic 
eminence  two  of  earth's  greatest  water  courses 
\vere  painting  their  silver  bows  tinged  with  a  sum 
mer  sun,  they  united  as  they  ran  and  gave  their 
pure  and  generous  offering  to  the  sea.  These 

217 


rivers  reminded  him  of  two  other  rivers  smaller 
and  unknown,  which  mingled  their  soft,  sweet 
waters  in  that  distant  and  enchanting  vale  never 
more  to  separate  and  at  last  to  flow  into  that 
ocean  of  eternity,  upon  the  banks  of  these  distant 
rivers  he  and  she  met,  loved  and  parted. 

The  boss  of  the  camp  once  rode  the  round 
stuff  on  the  Ausable,  Betsey  and  'tobacco  rivers, 
where  Nick  had  passed  his  manhood  years.  Often 
would  the  two  old  friends  recall  these  distant 
scenes.  The  boss  lived  in  a  fir  cabin  with  the 
wife  of  his  youth,  but  she  was  an  invalid  and  was 
cared  for  by  a  gentle  nurse. 

One  night  as  they  were  recalling  the  past  the 
boss  asked: 

"Whatever  became  of  the  Black  Wolf,  Nick?" 

"Did  you  never  hear?  He  was  burned  up  at 
Lost  Cabin,"  was  the  answer. 

"Is  that  so?  I  have  heard  that  he  was  still 
alive." 

"I  have  too,"  said  Nick;  "but  I  doubt  it,  be 
cause  if  he  were  he  would  still  be  making  it  hot 
and  heavy  for  me."  As  he  said  these  words  he 
assumed  an  easy  composure  which  indicated  his 
satisfaction. 

"I  have  heard  a  number  of  tales  about  him," 
continued  the  boss.  "Some  say  he  froze  to  death 
and  was  buried  like  a  dog  in  the  woods  back  of 
Dutch  Pete's  place.  Another  states  that  he 
was  drowned  on  the  Dead  Stream,  and  was  never 
taken  from  the  black  waters.  And  Games  tells 
me  that  he  allowed  his  black  beard  to  grow,  went 

218 


east  and  is  mayor  of  a  city;  you  know  he  was 
\vell  educated.  And  I  also  am  told  that  he  still 
pursues  his  craft  on  the  distant  Kickinghorse.  And 
I  want  to  tell  you  the  latest  report  is,  that  he 
married  a  nun  and  lives  in  the  wilderness  in  a 
secluded  spot." 

"Well,  whatever  has  happened  to  him,  I  have 
not  been  cursed  by  his  presence^  nor  stung  by  his 
guile  for  many  years  and  I  am  satisfied." 

There  seemed  some  misgiving  in  his  mind  as 
he  finished  the  sentence,  and  with  a  far  off  look 
in  his  eyes,  dimmed  with  years  and  shaded  with 
heavy  brows,  he  turned  to  his  old  companion  and 
said: 

"I  have  treated  him  fair,  and  every  other  man, 
woman  and  child  on  this  earth;  have  never  be 
trayed  a  cause  nor  an  individual;  life  has  been 
sad  but  it  has  been  a  success;  sorrow  is  not  fail 
ure,  disappointment  is  not  destruction;  if  I  had  it 
all  to  do  over  again  it  could  not  be  corrected  very 
much  and  I  repeat,  I  am  satisfied." 

As  he  said  these  words  he  arose  and  opened  the 
door,  saying:  "It's  bed  time,  so  long;  I  hope  your 
wife  sleeps  like  a  baby  tonight."  And  then  he 
stepped  out  from  the  dimly  lighted  cabin  under 
the  stars  of  God. 

Just  what  took  place  the  next  few  minutes 
must  be  heard  in  the  footsteps  of  the  dead,  and 
seen  with  eyes  of  imagination.  We  cannot  im 
agine  the  thought  of  all  men,  nor  the  attitude  they 
may  assume,  but  we  have  known  Nick  long 
enough  and  well  enough  to  know  that  his  thoughts 

219 


and  his  actions  were  always  noble  and  heroic. 

He  was  halted  on  his  way  by  a  big,  black,  ill 
clad  individual.  Before  Nick  could  defend  himself, 
this  unknown  giant  grabbed  him  by  the  throat 
and  brandished  a  long,  silvery  knife,  while  in 
husky  tones  he  mutters: 

"Faith  of  the  Fathers  saved  you  then,  but  what 
God  or  whose  devil  can  save  you  now,  for  I  am 
the  Black  Wolf." 

Then  like  a  bolt  of  lightning  the  knife  de 
scended  and  Nick  fell  mortally  wounded.  The 
Black  Wolf  fled  into  the  wilderness  and  Nick 
crawled  to  the  cabin  door.  Groans  disturbed  the 
boss,  he  arose,  opened  the  door,  and  called  the 
nurse.  Together  they  laid  the  bleeding  comrade 
on  a  cot  in  an  adjoining  room  and  the  boss  was 
dispatched  for  a  physician.  The  sick  wife  charged 
the  nurse  to  give  the  man  her  entire  attention, 
but  her  services  were  useless;  the  wound  was 
fatal. 

The  nurse  opened  his  shirt  bosom  to  place 
absorbent  cotton  over  the  wound,  to  staunch  the 
flow  of  blood  which  was  rapidly  emptying  his 
struggling  heart;  when  she  did  so  she  staggered 
back  and  sighed — "Holy  Mother  of  God."  Over 
Roman  gold,  and  from  it  was  suspended  a  cross 
his  bleeding  bosom  was  a  small  chain  made  of 
and  a  crucifix.  This  was  the  secret  of  his  noble 
life,  and  the  Sister  at  once  recognized  the  emblem 
of  his  own  childish  faith,  that  she  had  discovered 
upon  this  same  bosom  forty  years  before.  It  was 
as  long,  long  ago — the  helpless  lumberman  and 

220 


the  angelic  Amelia — she,  with  a  trifle  of  rudeness 
to  her  action,  folded  back  the  black  veil,  in  a 
regretful  manner  as  though  she  disdained  the 
cloth  of  separation,  from  pleasure  and  from  per 
sonal  love,  said  with  pathos: 

"I  loved  you  then  and  I'll  love  you  forever." 
As  she  said  these  words  she  drew  her  head 
down  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  her  life  kissed 
his  lips,  trembling  with  a  thousand  expressions 
that  her  eager  ears  would  never,  never  hear.  He 
moved  his  hard,  rough  hands,  scarred  and  knotty 
with  manual  toil,  and  reverently  replaced  the  veil 
over  her  fair  brow  and  down  over  her  heaven 
kissed  cheeks  and  smiled  in  his  victory.  He  had 
given  love,  his  greatest  earthly  joy,  to  adorn  her 
fair  face  with  that  dark  veil,  the  emblem  of  char 
ity;  and  now  in  his  last  earthly  hour,  and  with  his 
dying  fingers,  covered  the  brow  that  must  be 
hidden  until  unveiled  by  Gabriel  on  the  morning 
of  eternity.  He  was  passing  from  the  kingdom  of 
words,  to  that  country  where  idols  are  not  in  flesh 
and  blood  and  human  beauty,  and  summoning  up 
all  his  strength  in  that  lonely  cabin  at  the  quiet 
midnight  hour,  where  no  eager  spectators  were 
to  throw  shadows  over  the  sacred  scene,  he  sighed 
softly,  which  betrayed  his  weakness. 

"My  Amelia,  my  Amelia,  now  and  forever." 
Then  sank  back  and  never  breathed  again.  He 
had  conquered  in  love's  hot  battle,  love  had  be 
gotten  love,  and  life  had  been  sweetened  by  im 
mortality.  He  had  parted  with  her  not  on  the 
Muskegon,  but  on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful 
perennial  Jordan;  not  to  travel  to  the  upper 
camps,  but  to  wing  his  flight  to  that  upper  coun- 

221 


try.  He  died  in  the  arms  of  the  woman  that 
breathed  the  fragrance  of  love  upon  his  cheek  in 
early  manhood  and  lighted  the  holy  tapers  of  his 
undying  affections.  And  not  till  the  physician 
came  at  the  breaking  of  the  day  could  the  nurse 
be  influenced  to  release  her  clasp  from  the  dead 
shantyman,  her  lover  for  forty  years. 

Camp  men,  like  wild  wolf  hounds,  sought  the 
assassin  at  daybreak.  They  found  him  only  a  few 
rods  from  the  roadside  with  a  bloody  dagger 
driven  to  the  hilt  in  his  heart.  Amelia  at  once 
recognized  him  and  asked  that  he  be  buried 
decently. 

The  angry  men  flung  him  into  a  hole  in  the 
ground,  wrapped  in  his  old  mackinaws;  covered 
the  mound  with  stones  hurled  angrily  upon  the 
lonely  spot,  now  entirely  unknown  to  living  men. 

On  the  bank  of  the  murmuring  river  at  the 
foot  of  a  proud  old  fir,  they  laid  down  the  form 
of  the  pioneer  lumberman,  who  had  kept  the  faith 
and  honorably  won  the  golden  crown  the  angels 
set  upon  his  brow  at  that  gorgeous  coronation. 

In  less  than  a  year  after  this  tragedy,  another 
procession  of  silent  mourners  passed  down  the 
hill  road  and  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  fir;  in  this 
procession  there  was  no  nurse,  as  there  had  been 
the  preceding  year.  The  two  are  sleeping  now 
side  by  side  far  from  the  sweet  arbutus  where 
love  was  born. 

It  was  a  long  drawn  tragedy,  sad  and  pitiful. 
Some  time  we  will  go  again  and  linger  near  the 
two  well  kept  graves  under  the  western  fir,  where 
in  graceful  repose  lie — Nick  of  the  Woods,  and 
Amelia,  the  noble  Nun. 

222 


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